


took you to the city

by biblionerd07



Series: broad-shouldered beasts [12]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Behavior, Established Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Food Issues, Healing, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Past Abuse, Personal Growth, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 13:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18700804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: Mickey's parole is up, and for the first time in his life, he's seriously considering what kind of man he is--and what kind of man he wants to be.





	took you to the city

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I have one more part planned out after this! And that will probably close this series out. Then maybe I will finish my other Ian/Mickey fics I've started. Also I have to end this series because I am running out of lines from "Broad-Shouldered Beasts" to title the fics with lmao. Just a slight warning--there is a part where Mickey is considering that a cat may be dead, but the cat in question is not actually there and the cat is never seen (described?) so it's not graphic animal death or anything like that. (They don't even know if the cat is dead or not.) Also Mickey does make a joke about a dead dog, but again it's not graphic and it's a hypothetical dog, not an actual existing one.

Mickey’s phone alarm beeps at him and he pulls himself out from under a Ford Taurus with a leaky fuel line. “Be right back,” he tells Russell.

“School bus?” Russell guesses.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go meet the kid. He could probably walk here on his own and I’m being paranoid, but what the fuck ever.” Mickey shrugs.

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Russell commiserates. “I walked my kids across the street to my mother-in-law’s house every time they wanted to go. Until the youngest was _fourteen_. Oldest one was out of high school by then.”

That makes Mickey laugh a little, but it sends a little thistle into his heart. Russell was in a fucking war. He saw kids blow up in front of him from stepping on land mines or whatever. He’s still all fucked up from it now, though he says he’s a hell of a lot better than he used to be. It’s weird, because Hawkins doesn’t seem all the affected. But Mickey knows better than most how two people can deal differently, and how Hawkins could be hiding shit. And Russell was younger, drafted just about the second he turned eighteen, and neither of them have given Mickey any details but Hawkins said whatever Russell’s job was in the war was worse than his. Russell saw the really bad shit. He has a good reason to be paranoid. What’s Mickey’s reason?

Well, he reminds himself as he walks down the street, he got the shit beat out of him regularly as a kid. By adults. So that’s probably an okay reason to have trust issues. Though it wasn’t some stranger who got to him because his dad didn’t walk him back from the bus, that’s for damn sure. Same with Svetlana. Their paranoia comes from shitty childhoods, but it was at their parents’ own hands. But look at all the shit that happened to Ian. That wasn’t until he was older, sure, but no fucking way Mickey’s taking that chance.

It’s July and fucking sweltering, of course. Yevgeny goes to some school-sponsored summer camp in the mornings and then they sort of rotate with him in the afternoons. It’s easiest for him to just come hang out at the garage with Mickey, if no one’s home. Between Mickey, Ian, and Svetlana and then Ian’s whole brood of siblings, the kid doesn’t have to spend too much time sweating in the garage, but everybody’s busy today.

Lip did most of their summer babysitting last year, since he doesn’t teach in the summer and makes enough to not need a summer job, but he’s gone this summer doing some robotics residency or something in California. Mickey hasn’t paid much attention whenever anyone talks about it. All he knows is Lip won’t get back for another two weeks, so the kid’s stuck with Mickey today.

“Hi, Dad!” Yevgeny calls excitedly as he comes down the steps of the bus. He turns around at the bottom and chirps out, “Thanks, Ms. Whitney! See you tomorrow!”

“Bye now, Yevgeny,” the bus driver says with a smile. Kid’s a fucking charmer. He sure didn’t get it from Mickey or Svetlana. Must’ve been Ian. He slips his hand into Mickey’s as they head back to the garage.

“Today we made ice cream,” Yevgeny reports. “We made it! In the classroom!”

“No fucking way,” Mickey says. “How’d you do that?”

“Ms. Elizabeth had this _really_ cold ice that looked like it had _smoke_ on it and we had to mix and mix and mix and then it was ice cream!”

Mickey’s not so sure the kid isn’t leaving out some details, but he goes with it. Not like he knows how to make ice cream.

“You save me some?” He asks teasingly.

Yevgeny’s face falls. “No. Sorry, Dad. Ms. Elizabeth said it would melt.”

Mickey laughs. “Hey, kid, I was just kidding. Your teacher was right. It’d melt. It’s hot as balls out here. Don’t worry about it.”

“What kind of balls?” Yevgeny asks.

“Huh?”

“You said hot as balls. What kind of balls are hot? Baseballs?”

Mickey’s dying laughing now. “No, man, balls like the ones on your dick. They get all sweaty in your pants, right?”

Yevgeny shrugs, looking a little confused. “I guess.”

“It’s just something people say,” Mickey tells him. They walk into the garage and Yevgeny waves at Russell.

“Hi, Russell,” he says.

“Hey, Yev,” Russell says. “How you doing?”

“Good,” Yevgeny says. “It’s hot like my balls in my pants today.” Mickey’s cracking up again. The kid looks up at him. “Did I say it right?”

“Sure did, little man,” Mickey assures him. “You want to go sit in the waiting room and color or something?”

“No,” Yevgeny says, sounding affronted. “I want to work with you, Dad!”

Maybe it’s kind of pussy that that almost brings tears to Mickey’s eyes, but he doesn’t give a shit. He still can’t believe when the kid _chooses_ to spend time with him. It’s no doubt going to make everything take a shit ton longer with the kid asking a million questions the whole time, but it’ll be worth it.

“Cool,” Mickey says. “My favorite assistant.”

Yevgeny beams. Mickey gets him set up in an old work shirt so his clothes don’t get all messed up and Yevgeny settles onto the floor beside the Taurus.

“Do you need this one, Dad?” Yevgeny asks, pulling a socket wrench out of Mickey’s tool box and shoving it into Mickey’s ribs.

“No,” Mickey says. “Don’t touch stuff until I tell you to, okay?”

“Okay,” Yevgeny agrees, except Mickey can still hear him touching everything. He’s dropping shit and clanging things around.

“Ay,” Mickey barks. “Knock it off.”

“I wanna help!” Yevgeny whines.

Mickey blows out a breath, but he forces himself to keep his cool. It’s not like sitting here looking at Mickey working under the car is fun or anything. Mickey can’t get pissed at the kid for being bored. “Okay, hang on.” He slides out and thinks for a minute. “I’m going back under there,” he says. “You come over on the side, okay? But you gotta wear these glasses.”

“I already have my glasses,” Yevgeny points out.

“Yeah, but these are bigger. Put ‘em over your glasses to make sure nothing drips on them or breaks them.”

Yevgeny obediently puts the safety glasses over his own glasses. They’re huge on his little head and cover half his face. “They’re too big.”

“Yeah,” Mickey says. “Good. It’ll keep your face safe.”

“Why?” Yevgeny asks, eyes big. “Am I gonna get hurt?”

“You think I’m gonna let you get hurt?” Mickey demands.

“Nah,” Yevgeny says. “You always protect me.”

“That’s right,” Mickey says, chest swelling a little at how fast the kid said it. “Okay, come here.”

Yevgeny mostly just gets in the way, and by the time they finish the kid’s hands are fucking filthy and Mickey’s got to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t shove a grease-smudged finger up his nose before he washes them, but he’s chattering away all the way home about how fun it was and what a good helper he is and Mickey can’t argue with that. It made _his_ day better, at least.

“Dad,” Yevgeny says when they’re almost home. “I think you forgot your deodorant today again.” He sounds a little apologetic.

“Oh,” Mickey says. “I stink?”

“A little,” Yevgeny admits. He winces a little. He’s just getting to that age where he realizes that’s kind of embarrassing, where kids in his class are starting to tease each other over it. Mickey’s pretty sure Yevgeny doesn’t do it; he’s not that kind of kid.

But just because he doesn’t make fun of the other kids doesn’t mean he _understands_. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have the other kids move their chairs away, whisper when you come sit down at circle time, call you _flea bites_ because there’s a whole line of them on the back of your arm. He doesn’t know how it feels to have your teacher send a note home about your _lack of proper hygiene_ , a note that gets wadded up and thrown away without a second look. He has no fucking clue about water getting shut off, running out of clean clothes and having to wear the cleanest ones from a pile on the floor. Mickey finally started caring about that shit when he and Ian got together for real, but then he went to prison. He got jumped if he got too comfortable in the showers, and he never had money in his commissary for deodorant. He’s been the guy everyone makes fun of for smelling like shit his whole life. He's doing his best now, taking showers most every day and doing the deodorant shit, but he doesn't always remember.

Yevgeny has never and _will_ never be that kid. Mickey’s doing his fucking best to be sure of that. Yevgeny gets a bath every night with bubbles and that special shampoo for kids, all _no more tears_ with a rubber duck on the front. He’s always got clean clothes in his closet and hot water in the taps. If Mickey can’t do anything else for the kid, he’s making sure of that.

“Alright,” Mickey says, trying not to look too embarrassed. He doesn’t want the kid to feel bad for bringing it up. “Guess I better take a shower when we get home, huh?”

“Yeah,” Yevgeny says, relieved. “It’s okay, Dad,” he adds brightly. “In the summertime people sweat more and sweat’s what makes you stinky.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Mickey says, keeping his voice normal. “Uh, tell me some more about the ice you used for your ice cream. That part of your science class?” That effectively keeps the kid occupied for the rest of the ride home.

“Hello, family,” Ian calls out when they open the door.

“Ian!” Yevgeny yells. “I made _ice cream_ at camp today and then Dad let me help _fix a car_!”

“Wow!” Ian says, pulling his hands out of the soapy water in the sink in time to catch Yevgeny as he comes running in. “Sounds like quite a day.”

“Yeah,” Yevgeny says. “I’m a great helper.”

“Oh, I already knew that,” Ian says. He catches Mickey’s eye and smothers a laugh, because it’s a fucking lie. He’s a terrible helper in terms of practicality. But whatever. They’re not going to cut the kid down, and Mickey’s the one who was getting all sappy earlier.

“You are best helper,” Svetlana declares, coming into the kitchen from the back. Yevgeny rushes over to bombard her with a hug, too.

Mickey nudges Ian over to wash his hands. He washed his hands before he left the garage, like always, but now he’s thinking about what the kid said. Ian leans in for a kiss and Mickey pulls back a little. Ian looks at him questioningly.

“I stink,” Mickey says in an undertone, avoiding Ian’s eyes.

Ian’s eyebrows pull together. “I don’t smell anything. Nothing bad, anyway.”

“Ian,” Mickey says, shaking his head.

“Mickey,” Ian shoots right back. He comes in again for a kiss and Mickey doesn’t dodge him this time. He brushes a hand through Mickey’s sweaty hair and smiles. “I like the way you smell, remember?”

Mickey shakes his head again. “You’re the only one.”

“Good,” Ian says, smirking a little. “Just for me.”

Mickey huffs, but it really is lifting his mood. “You’re fucking gross.”

“Anyway,” Ian says, louder now and using that specific voice that means he’s angling for something. “Big day coming up next month.”

“What big day?” Mickey asks skeptically. Usually he knows if big days are coming, but sometimes Ian counts everything from class trips to fucking grocery shopping as big days.

“Yev, what special day is in August?” Ian asks, and then Mickey gets it.

“Dad’s birthday!” Yevgeny yells excitedly.

“Yeah,” Mickey says, far less enthusiastically. “Okay.”

“But,” Ian says, holding up a finger authoritatively. “There’s something even _more_ special.”

“More special than Dad’s birthday?” Yevgeny asks.

“Right after Dad’s birthday is the end of Dad’s parole.”

Mickey swallows hard. Yeah. His parole’s up in a month. That’s a good thing. A _great_ thing. But it’s kind of a scary thing. He can’t fully explain why. He shouldn’t be anything other than completely happy about it. He won’t have to do regular piss tests and stay in the state of Illinois and have Hawkins breathing down his neck anymore.

Hawkins doesn’t really breathe down his neck anymore anyway, all truth told. Hawkins came to his birthday last year and he came to Yevgeny’s birthday this year. He comes to the kid’s swim meets and calls to check in on Mickey not even for parole stuff, just to see how he’s doing. He’s more of a friend than a PO these days. His wife got them all Christmas presents, for Christ’s sake.

“What’s that mean?” Yevgeny asks. At eight, he has a hazy idea of parole meaning Hawkins comes and checks on Mickey’s pee sometimes and Mickey has to go meet with Hawkins once a month. But it’s another thing Yevgeny doesn’t really _know_. He doesn’t understand. It makes Mickey’s stomach twist to think about the day he _will_ understand and how that’ll change how he sees Mickey.

“Parole’s for getting out of prison early,” Mickey tells him. “I got out earlier than they planned, but that means they keep an eye on me for a while. After my parole’s up, that’s it. I’m just a regular guy again, I guess.”

“You’re not regular now?” Yevgeny asks.

“No, I’m a criminal,” Mickey says evenly. Though that state of being probably doesn’t ever go away. He’s a convicted felon; _that_ sure doesn’t ever change. It’s going to show up on every background check he ever gets.

“You can go anywhere in world after this,” Svetlana says.

Mickey snorts. “Where was I ever gonna go?”

“Honeymoon,” she suggests, making Ian laugh.

“Trying to get rid of us already?” He teases.

“No!” The kid interrupts, distressed.

“No,” Svetlana agrees. “But honeymoon is nice thing.”

“Where would we even go?” Mickey asks.

“They do cruises just for gay guys,” Ian says. There’s zero chance he said that because he wants to actually do it. He absolutely just said it for Mickey’s reaction.

Mickey can feel his whole face wrinkle up. “The fuck do gay guys need a whole cruise for?”

“Well, to enjoy a cruise without straight people ruining it,” Ian says.

“Let me guess, there’s a huge fucking rainbow flag on the ship and dudes run around in dresses and makeup.” God, he hopes that doesn’t get back to Debbie. He doesn’t want to sit through her lecture about LGBTQ-xyz what the fuck ever it was for the fiftieth time.

Ian and Svetlana laugh at him. Ian never seems too offended that Mickey doesn’t want to run around waving a flag or anything. Mickey’s married to a dude. He holds said dude’s hand in public and even kisses him in public sometimes. He thinks that’s enough.

“You should go to parade,” Svetlana days. “With the glitter and rainbows.”

Now they’re just fucking making fun of him. Mickey looks at the kid. “You on my team?” He asks. Ian and Svetlana both laugh at him again, but Yevgeny, of course, takes it very seriously.

“Team for what? I’m not good at basketball but I can win at swimming.”

Mickey huffs. “Just my team in life. Means you take my side in arguments and shit.”

Yevgeny looks a little confused. “There’s teams for life?”

“Never mind,” Mickey says, but at the same time Ian says,

“Yeah. Life’s hard, so people have teams for it. We’re a team together. Our family.”

Mickey should definitely still not be getting choked up over Ian saying that kind of shit, but here he is. Yevgeny nods thoughtfully. “Okay,” he says. “We can be a team.”

“But your mom and Ian like to tease me,” Mickey says through the lump in his throat. “So I need someone on my team to get back at them.”

Now Yevgeny looks a little suspicious. “Get back at them how?”

Mickey shrugs. “How do you think we should?”

Yevgeny considers this. “We could fart on their pillows!” He cracks up laughing at himself. Mickey shakes his head.

“Fart jokes, huh?”

“Kenny farted in camp today and it was _so loud_.”

“I’m having flashbacks to Carl,” Ian says with a laugh.

“Flashbacks?” Mickey asks skeptically. “You mean like fucking last week?”

Ian laughs again and slips an arm around Mickey’s waist. He really _doesn’t_ ever seem to care if Mickey smells. He never has. “Don’t be on a different team than me,” he says teasingly. He nudges his nose along Mickey’s. “You’re always on my team, right, Mick?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey murmurs before kissing Ian. Ian laughs into the kiss. That might be Mickey’s favorite way to kiss ever.

“Okay, but as I was _saying_ ,” Ian says pointedly. “We gotta have a big party for the end of your parole.”

“No,” Mickey says automatically.

“Mickey,” Ian starts.

“Ian, no,” Mickey says, and it comes out all panicky. He’s just as surprised as Ian at how adamant he is about this. He didn’t realize he was _that_ freaked out.

Ian looks at him for a minute and then tips his head toward the hallway. “Come on.”

“We gotta make dinner,” Mickey says half-heartedly, letting Ian drag him by the hand to their bedroom. Usually he loves Ian dragging him to their room, but this is going to be a Feelings Talk. Mickey used to resist those with every fiber of his being, but he’s getting a lot better at them. It helps that he realizes now how much better he feels after doing it.

“I don’t know,” he says before Ian can even ask. “I don’t know why I’m freaking out.”

“Okay,” Ian says slowly. “Are you freaking out about having a party or getting off parole?”

Mickey sighs. “The parole one.”

Ian tugs at Mickey’s arm to make him sit down on the bed. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know,” Mickey repeats. He shrugs. “Just…parole’s been…I don’t know, Ian. Two years, you know? And I’ve been good. So maybe…” He shrugs again.

Ian nods like Mickey actually formed a fucking sentence somewhere in that mess of words. “We got our shit together while you were on parole,” he points out. “We’ve been doing good. The whole family. Maybe you’re kinda scared about that changing.”

Mickey can feel tears stinging his eyes. He doesn’t know how Ian figured that out when Mickey couldn’t even figure it out. He nods. “Maybe.”

Ian pulls him in close and kisses his temple. “Hey,” he says quietly. “I promise I will love you just as much as an ex-con as I love you now as a parolee.”

Mickey laughs wetly. “You already knew I was going to end up like this someday anyway.”

Ian purses his lips. “Mickey, this doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

They have this conversation probably once a week. It’s kind of tiring. Mickey’s not sure he’s ever going to believe it, but he knows Ian’s never going to stop trying. Sometimes he’d like to just pretend he believes it, but he’s never been any kind of actor.

“Parole…” Mickey bites his thumbnail, trying to get his thoughts together. “It was like…I had to work on it, you know? That’s what parole’s for. Being better. But then if I’m not on parole, what—I mean, I could just go back to not caring I’m a piece of shit and that’s allowed.”

Ian doesn’t say anything for a while. He’s running his fingers through Mickey’s hair again. “I haven’t been on parole,” he says. “I’m allowed to be a piece of shit without caring that I am. But I’m working on it, too.”

“You’ve never been a piece of shit in your life,” Mickey protests. “Fuck outta here with that, you hear me?”

“Mickey,” Ian chides gently. “Will you shut the fuck up and listen?” Mickey rolls his eyes, but he does it. Ian raises his eyebrows sanctimoniously before he goes on. “It took me a long time to finally put in the real work with my therapy and my meds and routines and everything. But then when I finally decided to do it, I’ve been solid. I mean, mostly. We both know I’ve had setbacks, but that’s fine. It happens. Anyway. The point is, you’ve been working on yourself for a long time now, Mick. Parole didn’t do that. _You_ did that.”

Mickey blinks at the tears in his eyes. “But…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just kinda…scary.” He laughs at himself a little. He sounds like a fucking baby.

Ian pulls Mickey’s head down to rest on his shoulder. “I know it is,” he soothes. “You’ve had so many fucking changes in the last few years. You finally got to where things were staying the same for a while, but now your parole’s up. I know you think it doesn’t make sense that you’re freaking out, but I get it.”

“But you always get me,” Mickey points out softly. “That doesn’t mean I’m making sense.”

He can feel the curve of Ian’s smile against the side of his head. “Well, who the fuck cares if you’re making sense to anyone else if you’re making sense to me?”

Mickey laughs a little. “You got me there.”

“You got _me_ here,” Ian says.

Mickey snorts. “You’re fucking cheesy,” he says, even though he’s raising his head for a kiss.

“You love me,” Ian murmurs.

“I really fucking do,” Mickey agrees. “Think I should marry you all over again.”

That makes Ian laugh. “Tell me when to show up. I’m there, baby.”

Mickey lets the _baby_ go. This time. They hold onto each other quietly for a minute. Mickey sighs. “Lemme talk to Kim about it,” he says. “Maybe we can do a party.”

“Hey,” Ian says. “Look at me.” Mickey does. Ian’s the only one he’ll take orders from anymore. “We don’t have to do shit if you don’t want to.”

Mickey huffs. “Yeah, I know that. But maybe I do want to and I just don’t know it yet. I don’t know fuck about my own feelings.”

Ian smiles softly at him. “Feelings are hard.”

Mickey shrugs. He rests his head against Ian’s shoulder again while he works up to what he wants to say. “Know one feeling pretty easy,” he starts. “I—well, you know. Walking in the house and seeing you. That’s good. Love that.”

“Yeah?” Ian asks, grinning at him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Fucking hot dude waiting for me at home? Shit. Best feeling ever.”

Ian laughs. He kisses Mickey again. “Yeah, well, watching you walk in the door’s not so bad, either.”

“Yeah, you like me all jacked from the boxing shit, huh?”

“Love you all jacked,” Ian assures him. Mickey really has gotten pretty stacked. He’s always been stocky and put on muscle easily. Between boxing workouts and work, he looks fucking rugged these days. He’s considered growing a beard, since it probably wouldn’t be all patchy now like when he tried growing one when he was sixteen, but that might be too far. He doesn’t know if he wants a beard, and Ian refuses to give him an opinion either way. _It’s your face; you decide. You’re gonna be hot either way_ , he keeps saying stubbornly.

“Dad!” Yevgeny yells down the hall. “Ian! Are you guys gonna eat dinner?”

“What is it?” Mickey yells back.

“It’s shashlik,” Ian tells him. “I already got the grill going outside.” Ian’s so good at pronouncing the Russian stuff. He can have little conversations with Svetlana and the kid if they take it easy on him and talk slow. Mickey only knows like six phrases and all of them are derogatory things Svetlana’s called him. He’s trying, kind of, but he’s never been a quick study.

“Shashlik!” Yevgeny yells.

They eat shashlik a lot in the spring and summer. Ian makes them put chicken on it instead of beef or lamb since it’s healthier, and he gives puppy dog eyes if Mickey skips the vegetables, so it’s one of their healthier dinners. Plus it’s kind of an easy way for Ian to trick his brain into eating more. It seems like less food when you’re eating it in chunks on a stick. Mickey’ll eat fucking cardboard if it’s easier for Ian.

“Alright,” Mickey says. “You know I like a stick of meat in my mouth.”

Ian shoves him off the bed.

 

“Coming to the end of our time here, Mickey,” Hawkins points out in his office. “Next month, kid.” It used to annoy Mickey when Hawkins called him kid. He can’t really pinpoint when it stopped bugging him. Maybe around the time Hawkins made sure Terry didn’t kill him. Sometimes Hawkins calls him _son_ instead of _kid_ and that…is a lot to take in.

“Yeah,” Mickey says. He fidgets a little. “Is it—” He cuts himself off.

“What?” Hawkins asks. “Come on, you know if it’s a stupid question I’ll only make fun of you for a second.”

Mickey huffs. Hawkins kind of busts his balls a lot, but it’s not really a bad thing. “I just mean…” Mickey looks down at his hands. “I’m kinda nervous.”

“Oh, yeah, Mickey, that’s normal,” Hawkins assures him, getting it right away. “You remember how overwhelming it was to make decisions all the time when you first got out? It’s like that all over again. The last thing telling you what to do is gone.”

“But…” Mickey sighs. “But it’s a good thing. I should be—”

“Don’t do the _should be_ stuff,” Hawkins advises. “You get stuck in _should be_ , you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“Well, I’m already pretty crazy,” Mickey says. “Got a shrink and everything.”

Hawkins rolls his eyes. “Finishing your parole doesn’t mean you don’t have any rules or anything, you know. You can go right on living like you’re still on parole if that helps.”

“Well, I think I’ll leave the state,” Mickey points out dryly.

“Will you?” Hawkins shoots back.

Mickey laughs a little. “Hey, man, I’ll at least go visit my sister sometimes.”

“Good,” Hawkins says. He gets serious and Mickey knows what’s coming next. “I’m proud of you, Mickey.” He’s started making a point of saying it every time Mickey meets with him. It’s…good. Mostly. It’s just kind of hard to take sometimes.

Mickey shrugs. “Okay,” he says. That’s as close to accepting it as he can get.

Hawkins narrows his eyes. “What’s that about?”

“What?” Mickey asks defensively.

“You didn’t get pissed at me for saying it, but you sure weren’t happy to hear it.”

Mickey sighs. “Everyone keeps telling me that but…” He shakes his head. “Proud of me why? Because I’m not as bad as I used to be?”

“Yeah,” Hawkins says bluntly. It catches Mickey off guard and makes him laugh a little. “Look, Mickey, I didn’t know you before you went to prison. But I saw you when you were about to get parole. You were angry and disrespectful and you didn’t care about anything.”

Mickey swallows hard. That’s not really how he remembers it. He was fucking terrified. He was getting out of prison, but for what? He had no idea what was waiting for him on the other side. He didn’t know if Terry was waiting to kill him, didn’t know what it was going to be like to be around Svetlana and the kid every day, and he knew for fucking sure Ian _wasn’t_ waiting for him.

“Think I had a right to be angry,” Mickey mumbles, because he isn’t sure what else to say.

Hawkins shrugs. “Yeah, I think you did, too,” he says. “I’m just saying, you’ve changed a lot in two years.”

“I—” Mickey stops. The feelings he’s having right now aren’t for Hawkins. Hawkins cares about him, Mickey knows that, and he’s come through for Mickey more than once. But there are some things Mickey just can’t say. Maybe he can tell Ian, if he works really hard.

“What’s up?” Hawkins asks. Mickey shakes his head.

“I gotta go,” he says instead. Hawkins kind of sighs, because he can always tell when Mickey’s avoiding something, but he waves him off.

“Be good,” he says. “Sometimes people get lazy in the last month. Don’t.”

“I’ll try,” Mickey promises honestly. He usually ignores that kind of stuff when Hawkins says it, but Hawkins deserves something here. Mickey’s pretty positive if he’d gotten any other PO, parole would’ve gone way differently. For some reason, Hawkins decided to give a shit about keeping Mickey out of prison and cut him some slack in the beginning when Mickey thought everything was pointless. Mickey’s not sure he deserved the breaks Hawkins gave him, but he’s glad he got them.

“I have to go to therapy now,” he adds, because Hawkins likes the reminder that Mickey’s still going to the shrink. He even told Mickey he went to therapy for a while, when his kids were little and his wife couldn’t take his war nightmares anymore. Mickey kind of wants to ask him about the war stuff, but he’s afraid of it. He figures maybe right now he has enough on his plate with his own PTSD and Ian’s stuff before trying to listen to someone else’s shit too.

“Good,” Hawkins says adamantly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fucked in the head and need a shrink,” Mickey says with an eye roll. Hawkins rolls his own eyes in response and Mickey leaves. He doesn’t usually double book parole meetings and therapy for the same day, because they both take a toll on him, but he scheduled himself an extra therapy session today since he’s so anxious about the parole stuff. Besides, he promised Ian he’d see if Kim can get him over his own bullshit about a party.

Kim’s kind of amused when Mickey sits down and says, “My parole’s up next month and I’m kinda freaking out. Ian thinks it’s ‘cause everything’s changing so much and I finally got stable and now this big change is happening.”

She sort of laughs and says, “So what do you need me for?”

“Is he right?” Mickey asks nervously.

She’s stops laughing at him. “Mickey, you tell me.”

Mickey shrugs. “I don’t know. Yeah. Mostly.”

“But?” She prompts.

“But…” He runs his hand over his face. “I still got the family stability, you know? I’m not worried about that going away. And it’s easier to not be a fucking pussy about other changes when I know I got them with me.”

Kim beams at him. “Mickey, you’ve come so far.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re proud of me too, huh?” He slouches in his chair, unsure exactly why he’s so annoyed about that right now. Kim raises her eyebrows.

“Well, that sounds like a lot to unpack.”

Mickey taps his fingers on the arms of the chair. “I don’t really get why everyone’s all proud of me.”

“Because you’re growing,” Kim points out. “You’re working hard and seeing payoff.”

Mickey shrugs. “Guess so.”

Kim doesn’t say anything for a second. “You said Ian thinks it’s about the big change and the stability. But it doesn’t sound like that’s what you think after all.”

“I know it’s part of it,” Mickey says. “Ian always figures out what the fuck I’m feeling before I do.” He picks at a thread on bottom of his shirt. “I just feel like…” He blows out a breath and shoves his sweaty hair off his forehead. “I mean, this is as good as I’m gonna get. I’m never gonna be some guy who—who goes around smiling and whistling and fucking…I don’t know, helping charities and shit. You know? I see a fight going down on the street and it’s not my family, I’m minding my own fucking business and not looking back. I’m not gonna be a better person than I am now. So if everyone thinks it’s so great how hard I’m working, won’t they be kinda pissed if I never get any better?”

“What about makes you think you need to be a better person?”

Mickey scoffs incredulously. “Every fucking thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

“Like what?”

“Like fucking beating people’s brains in and, uh, I don’t know, selling fucking drugs at a fucking school, and….and being a fucking pimp, that’s pretty bad. Those girls were all fucking human trafficked into the country and I didn’t give a fuck. I didn’t care what they wanted. I just wanted to get some fucking money. I didn’t even pay ‘em very much. And I saw what kind of dudes were going up there—that was a fucking shitty job. I should’ve paid more.”

Kim waits him out. “Those are all things you did in the past,” she points out.

“It’s who I fucking am,” Mickey snaps. “There’s only so much I can fucking change, okay? I still don’t give a shit about other people, people who aren’t my family. Even with my family, I got a limit for stuff I care about. That’s not how—I mean, I’m still that guy.” He swipes his hand over his nose as he realizes he’s crying. “I’m always gonna be that guy.”

“Can I tell you my impression?” Kim asks gently. Mickey shrugs and nods. He figures that’s why he comes here. “From what you’ve told me, and from what Ian’s said when he’s been here,” she starts slowly. “I got the impression that you were a very scared, incredibly traumatized young man. You adapted to your surroundings because you wanted to survive. And that included ignoring any kind of conscience you might’ve developed in other circumstances. A conscience isn’t something you’re born with, Mickey. It’s shaped by the society and the environment around you. So I think it was very difficult for you to develop a conscience in line with the rest of our society in general because of your father and your home life. It was a lot safer for you to align yourself with your father’s morals. But you don’t have to do that anymore, and you’re looking back on the past with the values you have now. I don’t know if that’s very fair of you to do to your past self, Mickey.”

Mickey blinks at her. “Yeah, well, I’m always an asshole to myself. Isn’t that part of why I’m here?”

Kim smiles at him indulgently. “Well, yeah,” she says. “But I think you need to be a little gentler to yourself.”

Mickey does his best not to make a face, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t work. “I don’t know how to do that,” he points out.

“I know,” she says. “But isn’t that part of why you’re here?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. She’s always doing that, using his own words back at him. He rubs his hands over his thighs. “So you don’t think I was a bad person back then?” His voice comes out way fucking needier than he wanted it to.

“Mickey, I’m not here to pass judgment on anyone,” Kim points out. “I don’t make value statements about good or bad.” She hesitates a little. “But I think, from the man I’ve gotten to know over the past year or so, you’re someone I wouldn’t be uncomfortable having around my children.”

“You have _children_?” Mickey asks.

“Yes,” Kim laughs. “I have a daughter and a son.”

“I never knew that,” Mickey says.

“Yeah, I never told you,” Kim says. “We’re here to talk about you, not me. But I also know how protective you are of Yevgeny, and from one parent to another, I knew you’d know what I mean by saying that.”

Mickey nods. It’s not like talking this out in one session fixed him or anything. Or _helped realign his feelings_ , since Kim gets annoyed when he talks about therapy fixing him. But he has some shit to think about now.

“Am I too protective of the kid?” Mickey asks worriedly. “Like should I start letting him walk by himself from the bus stop?”

“Mickey,” Kim says, spreading out her hands. “Am I going to tell you that?”

Mickey groans frustratedly. “You know, this therapy shit’s kind of a scam. All you do is make me talk and talk until I figure out my own shit.”

Kim shrugs blithely. “Yeah, well, I’d be more worried you’re onto our game if you weren’t doing so much better now than when you first started coming to the free clinic.”

That makes Mickey laugh out loud. “And you get all the credit there, huh?”

Kim laughs, too. “I would say I’m due at _least_ half.”

“Who gets the other half?”

“Ian gets some, Yevgeny gets some, your parole officer, Mandy, Svetlana, Ian’s siblings…”

“I don’t get any fucking credit for all this?” Mickey asks, still laughing. He knows she’s just yanking his chain. She’s always going on and fucking on about how much his own work is important in his healing process and all that shit.

“Nope,” Kim says apologetically. “It’s all of us just dragging you along. Sorry.”

Mickey flips her off when he’s leaving the office, and she laughs harder than ever.

 

“Hey, Dad?” Yevgeny says. It’s about a week later and they’re sitting on the couch after reading his book. “Want to hear a joke Evan told me today?”

“Sure,” Mickey says wearily. Evan is apparently quite the comedian. The kid comes home from his summer camp full of fucking awful jokes and Mickey’s never sure if he’s supposed to fake laugh so he doesn’t hurt the kid’s feelings or not laugh so the kid doesn’t think he’s actually funny and get his ass kicked by someone who doesn’t care about indulging him.

“What has four legs but can’t walk?”

Mickey shrugs. “Dead dog?”

“Mickey!” Ian scolds, but he’s kind of laughing. He’s lying on the ground at their feet. “Jesus.”

“I’m sorry, you know a dead dog that can still walk?” Mickey demands.

“That’s not the answer, Dad,” Yevgeny says. He doesn’t seem bothered by Mickey’s guess, so Mickey’s not sure why Ian’s up his ass about it.

“Alright, what is it?” Mickey asks.

“A table!” Yevgeny says, all proud of himself. He collapses back onto the couch cushions giggling and Mickey looks over at Ian. Ian cracks up laughing, but it’s definitely at the look on Mickey’s face and not at the kid’s joke.

“What happened to the fart jokes?” Mickey says under his breath.

“Zhenya!” Svetlana calls from the bathroom. Mickey recognizes enough of the words she’s saying to know she’s telling him to get his shit together to get ready to go. He runs right off to do it because he’s excited to leave. They’re going to their Russian club tonight. Svetlana comes out of the back all dolled up—way more than she usually is for this. Ian wolf-whistles at her. She scoffs, but she’s smiling.

“You trying to fuck someone?” Mickey asks interestedly. She hasn’t mentioned anyone.

“Maybe,” she says coyly.

“Well, what you gonna do with the kid while you do?” Mickey asks, not annoyed or anything. He’s just wondering. He’s never had to deal with figuring out what to do with the kid while he fucks someone. “Just do it in the bathroom or bring him home first or what?”

“No,” Svetlana says, rolling her eyes. “Tonight just catching attention. Then we will go on date, then fuck after date.”

“Thirst trap,” Ian says approvingly.

“What?” Mickey asks.

“Looking good to trap someone into wanting to fuck you,” Ian explains. “Like when you come home with your work shirt all unbuttoned and your sleeves rolled up because you know I think it’s sexy.”

“I unbutton my shirt and roll my sleeves up ‘cause it’s fucking July,” Mickey points out, but he can feel himself blushing a little. Yeah, okay, he’s noticed Ian’s eyes lingering. Dude’s his fucking husband. He shouldn’t have to justify himself. The look Ian shoots him tells him Ian absolutely knows Mickey does it for him, but he doesn’t push it. Svetlana bustles into the kitchen to get whatever her snack contribution is for their club tonight. It’s probably fucking Jell-O shots or something.

“Well, it’s like when I walk from the bathroom to our room without my shirt,” Ian says.

“How’s that count?” Mickey says. “I want to fuck you when your shirt’s on, too.”

Ian hoots a little. He stretches his leg out and gives Mickey a little kick. “That was sweet.”

“Yeah, we get the house to ourselves so I’m getting ready to get laid,” Mickey says, making Ian laugh again. Ian leaves his foot resting on Mickey’s thigh and smiles up at him with his hands behind his head. He’s so gorgeous it takes Mickey’s breath away for a second. He feels like he’s sixteen again, shocked and kind of terrified that this guy wants anything to do with him. The good news is, Mickey at twenty-four can look directly at Ian when he’s looking all good like this. Mickey at sixteen had a lot of trouble with that.

Mickey needs something to do with his hands, so he starts rubbing Ian’s foot. His feet are always hurting from all that fucking running. Ian laughs a little, but he brings his other foot up to Mickey’s thigh, too.

“You really _do_ want to get laid tonight,” he says with a grin. “Fuck, Mick, you know you don’t have to work for it.”

Mickey shrugs. He feels kind of stupid as he says, “I’m not trying to—I mean, I just want you to feel good.”

He can see Ian melt at that. Ian crunches himself around to put his hand on Mickey’s ankle. “You always make me feel good,” he promises. “Always have.” That makes Mickey chew at his lip, because it’s a huge fucking lie.

“Bye, Dad! Bye, Ian!” Yevgeny calls out, walking behind Svetlana. “Mom, you smell real good,” he adds as they walk out the door. Mickey shakes his head a little. He still doesn’t know how he got a kid who’s so goddamn nice all the time. Probably a benefit of Mickey not being around for six years. He also seems real fucking concerned with how everyone smells. Maybe Mickey needs to give him a little talk about minding his own damn business.

Ian pulls his feet away and climbs up onto the couch with Mickey. “Hey,” he says. “What’s going on? You’ve been kinda quiet all night.”

Mickey sighs and rests his head against Ian’s. Sometimes it kind of sucks to have someone know you so well. Ian can always tell when something’s off. “You can throw me a party if you want,” Mickey say quietly.

“Do _you_ want a party?” Ian asks seriously. “Or I guess…do you not hate the idea of a party?”

“Ian…” Mickey has to swallow hard. “I’m doing my best to be better. But I’m—I’m only gonna change so much, you know? I’m always gonna be that piece of shit you knew when we were kids.”

“I didn’t know a piece of shit when we were kids,” Ian says softly.

Mickey scoffs. “Ian, come on.” He pulls away and stands up to pace, cracking his knuckles.

“I didn’t,” Ian says stubbornly. “You weren’t a piece of shit then and you’re not a piece of shit now.”

“Ian, I fucking kicked the shit out of you when you tried to get me to admit I loved you.”

It’s a heavy memory to bring up when they were supposed to be getting busy in the empty house. Mickey has his back to Ian right now, but he can hear the weight in the silence. Mickey’s shaking. He doesn’t know why he keeps bringing all this up.

“Yeah, you did,” Ian says slowly. “After your dad beat the shit out of you and you got fucking raped, Mickey. Sorry if I’m not holding a fucking grudge.”

Mickey presses his hands into his eyes, shaking a little like he always does when he gets a reminder about that day. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he chokes out. “Everything’s good. I’m so fucking happy, Ian. But I keep thinking like…why’d you even fall in love with me? If everyone’s so proud of me for being like _this_ , and I’m still barely a fucking normal person who isn’t gonna fucking kill someone, what the fuck was even in it for you before?”

Ian gets off the couch and wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist from behind. He hooks his chin over Mickey’s shoulder and murmurs in his ear. “You want the truth?”

“I don’t know,” Mickey admits.

“At first, what was in it for me was good fucking sex. I was a horny kid and you were hot and you were ready to fuck whenever I was. And then you started talking sometimes. Just a little bit. And you were fucking _funny_ , Mickey. I knew you all those years as some stupid thug who followed his brothers around, and then I realized that wasn’t right at all. I found out you were smart and you were funny and the reason you seemed like you were fucking pissed all the time because your life fucking sucked and everybody just assumed you were this shitty lowlife. And the longer we kept things going, the more I realized you actually cared, Mickey. I told you Ned wasn’t afraid to kiss me and you fucking _did it_. Don’t you remember that summer?” Ian asks, smile in his voice. “God, Mick. Just being dumb and getting in trouble. Hanging around the store, shooting the shit.” He shrugs and tightens his arms around Mickey. “What’d I get? I got my best friend. And I got the love of my life. I got _you_ , Mickey.”

“I wasn’t even a good person,” Mickey says, voice shaking.

“Yeah, you were,” Ian counters gently. “Under it all. You love harder than anyone I know. Just takes you a little while to open up. Makes sense though.”

“No one else would possibly think I was a good person,” Mickey argues. He doesn’t know why he wants Ian to admit this. He doesn’t know why it matters so much.

“What the fuck do I care what anyone else thinks?” Ian asks, reminding Mickey of their conversation from last week. “I knew you back then and I know you know. No one else ever really did. They can all fuck off.”

“Your fucking family thought I was trash.”

“You trying to say my siblings knew you better than I did?” Ian asks, unimpressed. “Come on, Mick. Is there anyone in the world who knows you like I do?”

Mickey shakes his head. Ian’s right about that. “But I just…” He sighs, frustrated. He turns around to face Ian, though he hides his face in Ian’s neck right away. “I feel like you’re more than I deserve. If I really cared about being a good person, I’d kick you out so you can go find someone good.”

Ian doesn’t rise to that bait. He stays quiet, just rubbing Mickey’s back. “That’s what you’re freaking out about, huh? You think parole was this excuse for you being a piece of shit but without parole you’re just a regular guy. And if you’re not good enough, that’s just you.”

Mickey’s crying for real now. “It’s like I’m different in bad ways and I’m still the same in bad ways,” he says. “I was trash then and that part didn’t go away. I’ll always be trash.”

Ian puts his hands on Mickey’s face and kisses him. “Maybe you are trash,” he murmurs. “I don’t think you are, but what do I know? Maybe you are. But I know if you are, I am, too. And I don’t even give a fuck, Mickey. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole fucking life. I don’t care what anyone has to say or what they think. I care what I think and what you think. I love you. You love me, right?”

“Course I fucking do.”

“Okay then. We’re staying together. I don’t give a fuck if we’re good or bad as long as I get you.” They’ve had variations of this argument a million times. Sometimes it’s Ian thinking he’s not good enough for Mickey. It’s usually this version though, Mickey wondering what the hell Ian sees in him. This is always what they settle on. Mickey said it to Ian once: _I don’t know what I deserve and I don’t fucking care. I want you._ He needs to trust that’s how Ian feels, too.

Mickey pulls back to wipe at his face. He blows out a breath. “Don’t think you’re supposed to say _yeah, maybe we’re just trash_ ,” he jokes weakly.

Ian wraps him back up again. “Hey, I said I didn’t think you were. But if you’re not gonna believe me on that part, fine. Believe me on the rest of it.”

Mickey nods, clenching his fists in the back of Ian’s shirt. “I do,” he promises. He pulls back and kisses Ian. It’s gross because he’s all covered in snot from crying, but Ian’s used to that by now. “I never get scared you’re gonna leave,” he says. “I just get scared it’s bad for you to stay with me.”

“No,” Ian says. He shakes his head. “Being away from you is what’s bad for me.”

Mickey nods. “Me too.” He kisses Ian again and then just holds onto him. He breathes in the smell of their laundry detergent and their soap and Ian’s deodorant and closes his eyes. “Think you’re right,” he says after a minute. “We should have a party.”

Ian searches his face. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Mickey says. “It’s—I mean, who the fuck ever expected me to finish my parole, right? Might as well eat some fucking cake and get drunk.”

Ian huffs a little, because they both know neither of them is getting drunk, but he lets it slide. “Okay, Mick. We’ll have a party.”

They stand there in the living room for a few more minutes, and then Mickey says, “So we gonna fuck with the house to ourselves or not?”

Ian laughs out loud, but he obligingly pulls off his shirt. “Hey, I’m always ready to fuck my husband.”

Mickey gets that giddy rush of butterflies he still feels when Ian says shit like that. The husband stuff; he doesn’t really get butterflies when Ian says he wants to fuck. He gets other rushes. Maybe Mickey’s thinking about what Ian said, about that summer at the Kash N Grab when it was hot and they were kids and everything felt silly and funny when he could push the fear and hatred to the back of his mind, but Mickey snatches Ian’s shirt and whips at his ass with it. Ian screams like a little girl and launches himself at Mickey, but Mickey’s reflexes are faster and he darts away.

Ian tackles him and they both land hard. They’re both laughing hysterically, and then they fuck breathlessly right there on the kitchen floor. They end up going so slow and taking so long, and then lying on the floor catching their breath, they have to scramble when they hear Svetlana and the kid coming back. They’re still naked and sprawled out on the floor, and they run to their room laughing again.

“Why’s there clothes all over?” Yevgeny asks, confused, sending Mickey and Ian into giggles again. Mickey looks over at Ian, at the first person who ever believed there was anything inside him worth anything, the first person who ever wanted to hear what Mickey was thinking, the first person who ever believed there was something _good_ inside him, and he makes himself a promise. He’s not sure he can ever change for real, not really. He doesn’t know if he can ever be worthy of Ian. But he’s sure as hell going to try. Every day, for the rest of his life, he’s going to work at being better. He’s going to make sure he lives up to what Ian’s always thought he was.

“You good?” Ian asks.

“I’m perfect,” Mickey tells him.

 

“What’s the Pacific Ocean like?” Ian asks Lip. Mickey can hear how fucking wistful he is. Ian finally saw the ocean when he ran off to the Army—whether it was during his time in the Army or after he went AWOL, Mickey still isn’t sure, but whatever—but it was only one time and it was the Atlantic.

Ian used to talk a lot about traveling the world. That was what he was most excited about with the Army. He wanted to see different states and countries. He wanted to learn different languages and explore. But that’s disappeared for the sake of stability. He saw the Army as his one shot to do that, and once he tanked that chance, he sort of just settled for sticking around Chicago. It makes Mickey’s stomach hurt to think about it. He knows Ian’s happy here, with his job and their life, but Mickey’s never going to forget that freckle-faced kid who showed Mickey pictures of different countries and said excitedly, _I’m gonna go there someday_.

“Well, you know, it looks pretty much the same as the Atlantic Ocean,” Lip says nonchalantly. Mickey’s never exactly been Lip’s biggest fan, but he could fucking hug him right now. Lip knows just as well as Mickey does how much Ian wants to see the Pacific Ocean. He doesn’t want to rub Ian’s face in it and make him feel bad.

The thing is, Ian knows Lip’s doing it, too. He makes a face. “Come on, Lip.”

Lip sighs. “I mean, it’s pretty fucking awesome, man,” he admits. “But I’m not lying. It doesn’t look that different. How different can an ocean be? It’s kinda weird to see the sun going down behind the ocean, though. Tripped me up.”

“And whatever you were on probably didn’t help,” Carl cracks, half-joking and half-disapproving.

Lip spreads his arms. “One hundred percent dry trip,” he promises. “I was sober the entire two months.”

“For real?” Carl asks.

“There were some guys with coke and I said no thanks, guys. My little brother’s against all recreational drugs.”

Carl snorts. “Man, not _all_. You can still smoke weed. I don’t care about that.”

Lip huffs. “Yeah, well, you could’ve told me that a few months ago. Shit.”

Carl laughs. “Good job, Lip,” he says proudly. It’s still fucking weird to think about _Carl_ being responsible and worried about everyone’s health. Carl fucking Gallagher, of all people. Mickey’s just glad he let his time in juvie change him before it got too late.

“So, Mickey,” Lip says conversationally. “Free man now, huh?”

“Officially off parole,” Mickey confirms, looking away. Hawkins and his wife, Abby, are standing with Svetlana and Fiona, listening to Yevgeny and Liam tell a story that’s no doubt hugely embellished. Every so often, one of Kev and V’s twins cuts in with a correction that annoys Yevgeny. Mickey cried his eyes out in Hawkins’ office three days ago when he wrapped up Mickey’s case file, so that’s kind of embarrassing. On the other hand, Mickey’s getting used to being known as a crybaby, so it’s whatever.

Aside from his crying stint in Hawkins’ office, the end of Mickey’s parole was actually…really anticlimactic. He went to work and then he went home and had to fix the toilet so it would stop running all fucking night and then he fell asleep in front of the TV while Ian worked late. He hasn’t really felt any different.

“Got any big plans?” Lip asks. His tone is bordering on condescending now, but Mickey can’t be sure it’s real. He has a tendency to always think Lip’s being condescending, even when he isn’t trying to and no one else reads it that way. But then Ian narrows his eyes a little, so Mickey feels kind of vindicated.

“Gonna suck Ian’s dick tonight if he wants me to,” Mickey says blithely, just to get back at Lip.

“Don’t you do that every night?” Carl asks.

“Sure, if I’m lucky,” Mickey says.

Lip makes a face. “You think I’m gonna be grossed out by hearing you talk about blowing my brother? I woke up more than once to hear that shit.”

“Yeah, I saw you guys once,” Carl admits, pained.

“Hey, you’re welcome,” Mickey tells them both.

“This is kind of embarrassing,” Ian says conversationally.

“We’re fucking married,” Mickey points out. “Not like they all thought we weren’t fucking.”

“God, is that all you guys ever talk about?”

Mickey whirls around. Mandy’s standing there, next to Debbie who’s grinning her face off. He feels his mouth drop open. At least half the reason this party hasn’t felt like an actual party was because Mandy couldn’t get time off work to come. It’s the first time he’s ever had a party that she wasn’t at. He was ready to scrap the party altogether, but Mandy put her foot down and said he still had to have one.

“The fuck you doing here?” He asks, shocked.

Mandy shrugs at him, biting down on a smile. “Come on, Mickey, you think I wasn’t gonna be here for this?”

“You said you couldn’t get off work.” Mickey’s got a lump rising in his throat as he steps forward and hugs his sister.

“Crybaby,” she teases gently, her own voice tight. She holds onto him and Mickey squeezes his eyes shut. She looks good; her hair’s shorter than a few months ago at the wedding. “I told ‘em if I couldn’t get time off, I was quitting.”

Mickey pulls back worriedly. “What happened?”

Mandy shrugs. “Well, I’m gonna go to school full time.”

Mickey shakes his head. “Mandy, no fucking way. You can’t—”

“Mickey,” she cuts him off. She’s smiling. “I wanted to go to school full time anyway. And it’s okay. Debbie helped me figure out the financial aid stuff so I’ll have money. If I work hard I can graduate in two years.”

“And I can come,” Mickey realizes, tears definitely springing into his eyes now. He laughs a little. “Fuck, I can leave the state. I’m coming to your graduation.”

“Well, you better,” she says loftily, swiping at her own eyes discreetly. She leaves Mickey to walk into Ian’s open arms. Ian kisses her forehead, but he doesn’t look the least bit surprised. Mickey realizes they planned this, and Debbie was in on it to go pick Mandy up at the bus station.

“You assholes,” he says. Ian and Mandy both laugh at him, so fucking smug he’d be annoyed if he weren’t so overwhelmed with love for both of them. He laughs too, feeling kind of giddy.

“Mandy!” Yevgeny screeches, coming hurtling across the lawn. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“Yeah, that’s because it was a surprise,” Mandy laughs, stumbling a little as he launches himself at her. “Jesus, Yev, you’re so big now!”

Yevgeny laughs. “Not really,” he says. “I’m one of the smallest in summer camp.”

“That’s okay,” Mandy says. “Your dad was always the smallest, too.”

Yevgeny looks over at Mickey for confirmation. Mickey nods. “Always,” he says.

Fiona comes over and gives Mickey a new beer. “Last one?” She asks. His self-imposed three-beer limit isn’t exactly a secret.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Mickey says. “Thanks.”

“Hey!” Fiona yells. Everyone stops talking and looks at them. Mickey can feel himself going scarlet as he realizes she set him up. “If you don’t have a drink, find one. We’re toasting Mickey Milkovich, successful parolee!” Everyone cheers. Mickey’s so fucking embarrassed. He didn’t know she was going to do this, and she’s not fucking done. “Listen. I have to admit, when I found out they let Mickey out early, I thought it was another sign the prison system in this country’s fucked. I didn’t think there was any way he was staying out of prison.” She smiles at him apologetically, tears in her eyes. “I’m so glad you proved us all wrong, Mickey. He’s gonna be embarrassed that I’m saying this, but Mickey’s one of my best friends. And I love you, Mickey. Here’s to a whole lifetime outta the system.” She clinks her bottle against his.

He shakes his head at her, but he’s kind of choked up. “Fuck you,” he mutters half-heartedly. She laughs and gives him a hug.

“Sorry,” she says, completely unapologetic. “But I think you deserve a toast.”

“Can I say something?” Hawkins asks.

“No,” Mickey says, but Fiona says,

“Shut the fuck up, Mickey. If anyone deserves to give a toast right now, it’s him. Go ahead, Hawkins.”

Mickey covers his face with his free hand. He looks back for Ian, and of course Ian comes right over and pulls Mickey close to him. He kisses the side of Mickey’s head.

“I was not excited to be assigned as Mickey’s parole officer,” Hawkins says. “I was Terry’s PO, and I’ve had a few of Mickey’s brothers, too. So I didn’t expect much. But I could tell right away something was different about Mickey. And I’m proud to say Mickey’s been my favorite parolee. And I’m excited to have him off my list.” He holds his beer up. “You’re a special kid, Mickey. I’m proud of you.”

Mickey hides his face in Ian’s shoulder. This is too much. He’s ready to bolt like he did at his birthday party. He thinks he can stay put. Maybe. For now.

“Anyone else?” Fiona asks. “Ian?”

“Nah,” Ian says easily. He doesn’t even have to check with Mickey—he knows there’s no way Mickey wants him joining in on this. Besides, Ian already tells him all the stuff he’d say here anyway.

“Can I say something nice about Dad?” Yevgeny asks.

“Yeah, Yev, go for it,” Fiona encourages, grinning at him.

“Dad always takes care of me and he lets me go to work with him and help fix the cars and he reads with me and he never, ever lets anything bad happen to me. I love you, Dad.”

Now Mickey’s just straight-up bawling. It’s one thing to have other people say nice shit about him, but the kid? Jesus. Yevgeny comes over and Mickey gives him a tight squeeze.

“Thanks, kid,” Mickey murmurs. “I love you.”

Everyone takes pity on him and abandons the toast idea, thank Christ. He couldn’t take any more after that. The party’s more about eating than anything else, which is good. Mickey makes Fiona come up and stand next to him while everyone sings _Happy Birthday_ since hers is in a few days, too. When they get home, Ian takes Yevgeny down to the laundry room to fold clothes. They’re giving the kid little chores for allowance money and, unsurprisingly, Ian’s the most consistent with it. Mickey, Mandy, and Svetlana end up in the living room, collapsing onto the couches wearily.

“Good day,” Svetlana declares.

“Yeah,” Mickey grunts.

“Good job,” she says softly. It chokes him up again. He shrugs.

“Did what I had to do for the kid.”

Svetlana nods. “I know. I am glad.” She gets up and pats the top of his head before leaving. “I am taking bubble bath with candles,” she announces. “Everyone stay out of bathroom.”

“That mean she’s jacking off?” Mandy asks.

“Probably.”

They’re quiet for a while, resting in easy silence. Mandy doesn’t say anything about being proud of him or even that he’s the first person in their entire family who finished parole without getting sent back to finish his sentence. They both know it, and they’re in a good mood right now. They don’t need to talk about that stuff.

“Hey, Mickey,” Mandy finally says. He turns his head to look at her. She looks a little nervous. But happy. “I’m dating someone,” she admits, almost shy. “Want to see a picture?”

“Yeah, I fucking do,” Mickey says. They talk once a week and she hasn’t mentioned anyone. But she’s always played those cards close to the vest. “Gotta know who to look out for in case I need to deliver a beat down.”

Mandy huffs. She hands over her phone. The dude in the picture looks boring as fuck. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and he’s got neatly-trimmed hair. “His name’s Drew. He’s in dental school.”

“No shit?” Mickey says. He watches her face as he hands back her phone. “He treat you good?”

She smiles, looking down at the picture. “Yeah,” she says softly. “He really does.”

Mickey’s going to cry. All he wants for Mandy is happiness. He just wants her to get everything she wants. He puts his arm around her shoulders and gives her a squeeze. “Good,” he murmurs. “I’m glad.”

“I’m happy,” she says. She’s smiling, and Mickey’s definitely crying now.

“ _Good_ ,” he repeats. “You fucking deserve it.”

She shrugs, but she’s still smiling. She locks her phone and puts it back in her pocket. “Look at us,” she says. “Productive members of society or whatever.”

Mickey laughs a little. “Yeah, I guess so. Who’d have fucking thought, huh?”

“Seriously.” She doesn’t add what she used to always add, which is that neither of them expected to be alive at this point. They decided together to leave that mindset in the past. Or try, anyway. It’s predictably hard to get out of, just like every other holdover from their shitty childhoods.

“He wants to take me on a trip before school starts up,” she says. “Some place in Canada.” She laughs a little. “I have a _passport_.”

“No fucking way,” Mickey praises. “Shit. Look at you. Ms. Fancy Pants.”

She laughs at him and elbows him. “Yeah, well, you could get one now, too, if you wanted. You can go anywhere now.”

Mickey shrugs. “Yeah, guess so.” He chews at his lip. “Hey…” He hesitates.

“What?” Mandy asks.

“What if I…” Mickey’s kind of embarrassed. It might be a stupid idea. “What if I, um, surprised Ian? With a trip or something. Out of the state.”

Mandy gives him the kind of smile that means she doesn’t think it’s a stupid idea. “He’d love it.”

“Yeah,” Mickey agrees, because of course he would. “I was thinking…” Mickey huffs. “I mean, it might be too expensive, so—”

“Spit it out,” Mandy commands.

Mickey flips her off, but he blurts, “California. Take him to that beach Lip was talking about. Or a different one, I don’t know.”

Mandy’s got this look on her face Mickey can’t quite parse. Then she throws her arms around him so suddenly he jerks backward. “Sorry,” she says, but she holds onto him anyway. “Mickey, that’s such a good idea.”

“You think so?” Mickey checks.

“God, you’re like…fucking romantic or something.”

Mickey snorts. “Come on.”

“No, really. Taking Ian over to see the beach in California…” She shakes his head. “He’ll be so happy.”

Mickey ducks his head and shrugs, but he knows she’s right. “That’s my job, you know? Make sure he’s happy.”

“So cheesy,” Mandy cries, but she’s smiling so wide it takes up her whole face. She squeezes him again. “God, this makes me happy.”

“Why?” Mickey asks. “You ain’t coming with us.”

She laughs at him. “Just…” She shakes her head. “You. You’re so happy. It makes me happy.”

Mickey nods. “Yeah,” he says around the lump in his throat. “Know what you mean.”

Her smile tells him she knows he means that’s how he feels about her. She gives his arm a little pinch like she does when she’s feeling emotional, and then she pulls her phone back out and says excitedly, “Okay, let’s start planning.”

 

“Dad,” Yevgeny wails. “He still hasn’t come back!”

Mickey groans to himself. The kid’s stray cat went AWOL three days ago and Yevgeny’s little brain went right into panic mode. They all put him off, told him to wait it out another few days. They were hoping the cat was coming back, but it’s not looking promising.

“Sorry, kid,” Mickey says with a wince. Ian’s at work and Svetlana’s on date number two with he dude from Russian club, so she’s probably not coming home until late tonight. Mickey’s all the kid’s got in this situation. He does not feel adequately equipped to handle this. This kind of thing is really Ian’s department—he’s the best at being comforting without actually outright lying. Mickey and Svetlana have never really learned how to soften a blow.

“What if he got hit by a car?” Yevgeny says, little chin wobbling. He shoves his glasses up his nose and heaves a sob. “He could be _dead_ , Dad!”

“Alright, take it easy,” Mickey says, trying to sound soothing. “Just because you haven’t seen him in a while doesn’t mean you gotta get all freaked out that he’s dead.” There’s an extreme irony to _Mickey_ saying that, because he always goes to the worst-case scenario, but Yevgeny doesn’t know that.

“I miss him,” Yevgeny says.

Mickey blows out a breath. Fuck. He does not know how to deal with this. “Get your shoes on,” he says.

“Why?” Yevgeny asks.

“We’ll go look for the cat.”

Yevgeny scrambles down the hallway to get his shoes. Mickey shakes his head at himself. He knows they’re not going to find the cat. Or what if they do and the kid was right and it’s all smashed on the road? What the fuck’s he going to do about that? He has no idea. He just knows the kid’s not going to calm down if they sit here with their thumbs up their asses all night.

They go walking around, and every thirty seconds Yevgeny’s cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling, “Sasha! Come home!” It’s pretty tragic, in all honesty. There’s this big patch of bushes about a block from their house, and Yevgeny runs over to it and drops to his knees.

“What are you doing?” Mickey asks.

“Sasha could be stuck in here!” Yevgeny says. Mickey grabs the back of the kid’s shirt before he can dive right in.

“There’s like thorns and shit,” Mickey says. “Don’t go in there.”

“Dad, I have to _look_ ,” Yevgeny says stubbornly. He’s got his chin all jutted out exactly the same way Ian does when he’s being stubborn about something.

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey mutters. He can’t believe how absolutely whipped he is by everyone in his whole goddamn family. “Move,” he tells the kid. “I’ll look.”

Yevgeny accepts this with no further commentary. If Mickey were a cynical man, he’d think the kid knew Mickey would do it himself and totally conned him into this. Well, Mickey _is_ a cynical man, but he’s pretty sure that wasn’t the kid’s objective. Like at least 80% sure. Yevgeny’s too nice for that shit.

“I don’t see anything,” Mickey reports, squinting through a mass of leaves and shrubs. His knees are getting all muddy because it rained this morning. He can’t believe he’s doing this. Fucking kid can get Mickey to do anything. It’s ridiculous.

“Mickey?”

Mickey looks back over his shoulder. Iggy’s standing on the other side of the street, looking confused. That’s the general look on his face. He’s also got a bloody nose and a fat lip. Mickey backs himself out of the bushes and stands up, brushing off his hands.

“What happened to you?” Mickey asks, glancing up and down the street to see if anyone’s running after Iggy. The only one who comes walking up is Colin. He looks interestedly at Mickey, but doesn’t look too surprised at Iggy’s face.

Iggy shrugs. “My girl’s husband came home early.” He jabs an elbow at Colin. “Fuckface didn’t warn me.”

Mickey’s nose wrinkles up in distaste. “Stop fucking married chicks.”

Iggy shrugs. “They’re the best ones.”

Micky doesn’t care to dive into that and whatever it means. “You beat the dude down?”

“No, just ran off. Can’t really be mad,” he says logically.

“Yeah, you can’t,” Mickey agrees. “You fuck a married chick, you get what’s coming to you. If I came home and someone was fucking my husband I’d kill ‘em.” He shouldn’t have said that, because now he’s thinking about that, and that brings up memories of when Ian _was_ fucking other dudes. Mickey shakes the memories away. That’s all in the past. No fucking way Ian ever does that again. Mickey knows that for sure.

“You have a _husband_?” Colin asks incredulously. “You got gay married? To who?”

“To Ian,” Mickey says scornfully. Who the fuck else would he ever marry?

“Gallagher?” Iggy checks. Mickey rolls his eyes. Jesus Christ, he forgot how absolutely fried both their brains are.

“Yes, Gallagher. We got married like three months ago.” It was three months, a week, and four days ago. Mickey’s got this thing on his phone where he puts in an event and it’ll tell him exactly how long it’s been down to the minute. But he probably doesn’t need to reveal how utterly gay he is. Not to anyone else, anyway. Ian loves it.

“Who are you guys?” Yevgeny cuts in.

“Oh,” Mickey says. He hesitates for a second. He’s not sure how much he wants Iggy and Colin in his kid’s life. Sure, they’re not as bad as Joey and Jamie, but they spend most of their time high or drunk or a combination of both, and they’re definitely still slinging drugs and guns. But Mickey can’t lie to the kid, and he feels kind of guilty about considering not calling them his brothers. “These are my brothers, Iggy and Colin. This is my kid.”

Mickey was kind of expecting the kid to get all excited over two new uncles. He always laments having all his aunts and uncles in Ian’s family and just Mandy from Mickey and no one from Svetlana. But Yevgeny looks up at Mickey and then back at Iggy and Colin, eyes narrowed.

“Did you hit my dad?” He asks mistrustfully.

Iggy shrugs. “Yeah.” Then he adds defensively, “He hit me, too.”

Yevgeny’s mouth drops open. “Dad!” He chides. “You did that?”

Mickey huffs, because Iggy and Yevgeny aren’t understanding each other. “No, kid, not recently. He means when we were kids we fought.”

Yevgeny thinks about that. “Well, Debbie said that’s okay sometimes for brothers and sisters to fight. But you said _your_ brothers were mean like your dad and hit you for crying and being gay and everything.” He shoots a little glare at Iggy for that, and then sends one over to Colin, too. Mickey’s positive Colin’s high on something. He’s even spacier than usual. Plus, Colin being on something is always a safe bet.

“Nah, these guys weren’t so bad,” Mickey tells him. “They weren’t the ones who beat me up last time, when my dad died. Me and Iggy and Colin were mostly just normal brother fighting.” There was also all the fighting Terry pushed them into, but he’s certainly not getting into that with Yevgeny right now. Maybe not ever, if he can get away with it.

“Oh,” Yevgeny says. He considers Iggy for a second. “Okay, then.” He sticks out his hand solemnly. “Nice to meet you.”

Iggy looks baffled. He looks at Mickey. “The fuck?”

Mickey can’t stop himself from laughing. “He’s real polite. Shake his hand, dipshit.”

Iggy does, still looking like he has no idea what the fuck is happening. He usually doesn’t. Colin doesn’t even shake. He’s standing there with his eyes closed now. “Why were you in the bushes?” Iggy asks.

“My cat is missing,” Yevgeny says seriously. “Dad’s helping me look.”

“You have a cat?” Iggy asks, mystified. He’s looking at Mickey like he has two heads. They were never an animal family. They didn’t have food to waste on a pet when the people in the house were already going hungry. Besides, Terry wouldn’t have let them have a pet. Mickey shudders a little, imagining what Terry would’ve done if one of them had even tried to bring some scrawny stray home. Luckily, Mickey never remembers even wanting a pet.

“The kid started feeding a stray,” Mickey explains.

“Why?” Iggy asks. “They eat like mice and birds and shit. They don’t need people to feed ‘em.”

“Sasha does,” Yevgeny says indignantly. “He’s my friend.”

“A cat?” Iggy asks.

“Does he speak English?” Colin asks.

“No,” Yevgeny says. He looks up at Mickey suspiciously. “Cats don’t speak English,” he says, voice pitching up a little like he knows he’s right but part of him’s wondering if Mickey’s going to let him in on a big fucking secret.

“They don’t,” Mickey assures him. Yevgeny looks kind of let down by that.

“But I didn’t try Russian,” Yevgeny says to himself.

“Cats don’t—” Iggy starts.

“Alright,” Mickey steps in. Iggy has no concept of letting a kid get away with saying weird shit. “We were looking for the cat. But he’s not in the bushes.”

Yevgeny leans against Mickey sadly. “Dad, do you think he’s dead?”

Mickey cringes. The truth is probably, but he sure as hell doesn’t want to say that to Yevgeny. Before he can say anything, Iggy pipes up. “He probably just moved on,” he says with a shrug. “I see cats running around all the time.”

Mickey gives Iggy a grateful look. The thing is, Iggy wasn’t even saying that to be nice or anything. He doesn’t really have much concept of not hurting kids’ feelings, either. But Iggy does see cats running around all the time, and in his mind he’s contributing to the conversation. The topic is cats outside, so Iggy told them something he knows about cats outside.

“Really?” Yevgeny asks, hope starting to creep into his voice again.

Iggy shrugs again. “Sure. Maybe someone else started feeding him and he likes their food better.”

Yevgeny looks up at Mickey, offended. “Because Dad wouldn’t buy him the fancy cat food!”

Mickey looks back at him unapologetically. “Costs like five fucking bucks a can and you want to give him one every single day? Not happening.”

Yevgeny heaves a sigh. “Well, now he’s someone else’s cat.”

“Maybe he got in a fight and he’s healing somewhere,” Colin suggests. His high must be ebbing off. He’s blinking a lot more now.

“He does get in a lot of fights,” Mickey reminds Yevgeny.

“But he’s never been gone _this_ long,” Yevgeny points out.

“We can look again tomorrow, okay?” Mickey promises. “But it’s almost bedtime and you’ve got that summer camp field trip thing in the morning.”

That brings a smile back to Yevgeny’s face. He tells Iggy and Colin, “We’re going to the post office! That’s where they have letters and stuff.”

“No shit, they’re still doing that field trip?” Iggy asks. “I went there one time and this kid chopped the top of his finger off with a paper cutter. Got blood all over people’s mail.”

“Whoa,” Yevgeny says, eyes round. “What happened to him?”

Iggy shrugs. “They put his finger back on and sewed it and everything. But sometimes he’d get these weird twitches.”

Colin nods seriously. “Zombie finger.”

“What.” Yevgeny clutches at Mickey’s shirt.

“Okay, thank you,” Mickey mutters. “Better not have fucking nightmares tonight.”

“I won’t,” Yevgeny promises.

Mickey huffs. Like that promise ever means anything. He promises that all the time and then it’s 3 am and Mickey’s got a stinky little foot in his face. Yevgeny seems to have some kind of internal calendar he keeps to decide if he’s crawling into bed with Svetlana or with Ian and Mickey. He’s always switching off.

“Alright, guys, I gotta go,” Mickey says. “You got a place you’re staying?”

“Course we do,” Iggy says disdainfully. “Always do.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Mickey says. Somehow Iggy and Colin always seem to land on their feet. Against all odds, because they are seriously lacking in the smarts department.

“Nice to meet you,” Yevgeny says primly. “Now I know uncles from Dad and Ian. Not Mama, though.”

“Your mom doesn’t have any brothers,” Mickey reminds him.

“Oh, shit, that’s right,” Iggy says. “I’m a fucking uncle. Crazy. You know, I always thought Mandy would be the one to get knocked up. Didn’t figure it would be you.”

Mickey has to dig his fingernails into his palms at the mention of Mandy getting pregnant. Iggy and Colin were both around when all that happened, as far as Mickey knows, but knowing them, they didn’t get what was going down or just don’t remember. Either way, Mickey’s not bringing all that shit up.

“Yeah,” he says instead of anything meaningful. He hesitates for a second. “Uh…give me your number.”

“Okay,” Iggy says easily, fishing his phone out of a pocket. He just hands his phone over so Mickey can do the number swap, and then Colin gives his, too. Mickey’s not entirely sure why he’s getting their numbers. He’s never had any of his brothers’ numbers before this, and he’s certainly not going to ask for Jamie’s or Joey’s. All he knows is Iggy and Colin are his brothers, for whatever that’s worth. It just feels strange that if Mickey wanted to find one of them, he’d have to run around the neighborhood looking.

“Alright,” Mickey says, handing back their phones. He juts his chin at Iggy’s face. “Go get some fucking ice.”

“My nose isn’t busted,” Iggy says confidently. Mickey can tell just from looking at it that Iggy’s right. Milkoviches are intimately familiar with broken noses.

“Well…” Mickey isn’t really sure how to end this interaction. Usually with his brothers, a meetup ends with someone getting punched, either by each other or them against someone else. “See you around,” Mickey says.

“Later.” Iggy and Colin walk off, unconcerned. Mickey watches them go for a second and shakes his head. He looks down at Yevgeny, who’s leaning against him and tipping his head back to look at Mickey.

“Your brothers are weird, Dad,” he says conversationally.

Mickey laughs. “Yeah, they are,” he agrees. “But those two aren’t as bad as my other two brothers.”

“Your other brothers are really mean?” Yevgeny checks.

“Yeah,” Mickey says. “But you’ll never meet them.”

“That’s good, right?” Yevgeny checks.

“Yeah,” Mickey says. He can’t even think about Joey or Jamie coming near the kid. It makes him want to puke. “Come on, little man. Time to go home.”

Yevgeny peppers Mickey with questions about Iggy and Colin all the way home. _Who’s older? Did they help you when kids were picking on you? Did you have to share a room? Does anyone else have glasses?_

Mickey weathers the storm as best he can. He’s not in the habit of talking about his brothers. Not in such a harmless way, anyway. When they get home, Mickey sends the kid to his room to get into his pajamas. Ian’s home now, sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cold pasta with vegetables.

“Fuck, you’re early,” Mickey says. “I was gonna heat that up for you.”

“Aw,” Ian says, tipping his head and smiling. “’S okay, though. It’s too hot for hot food.” Mickey leans down and gives him a kiss, then another. He clings a little. Ian’s brow winkles as he takes that in. “Where were you guys?” He asks.

“Looking for the cat.”

“Shit, he’s not back yet?” Ian asks. “Poor Yev.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s coming back,” Mickey admits in a whisper. The kid has pretty selective hearing. He can hear Mickey mention a birthday present from outside the fucking door, but he can’t hear Svetlana telling him to get his shit out of the living room from two feet away. No way Mickey’s risking him hearing this.

“We’ll have to think of a distraction for Yev,” Ian says. “Though I don’t know what would really distract from losing his cat.”

Mickey kind of half-heartedly thinks about saying it wasn’t really _his_ cat, but he doesn’t. The kid thought the cat was his, and that’s enough to make it sad for him. He snags a noodle out of Ian’s bowl and says around it, “Ran into Iggy and Colin for a second.”

“When?” Ian asks, forgetting his food as he looks at Mickey in shock. “Today?”

“Just now,” Mickey says, nudging Ian and nodding to the bowl. Ian kind of narrows his eyes, which means he wasn’t really going to quit eating and doesn’t really appreciate Mickey’s lack of faith, but he doesn’t say anything. He does wait an extra second before taking another bite, though, because he’s a stubborn, petty asshole. Mickey loves him.

“They don’t live around here, do they?” Ian asks incredulously. They’re not out of the South Side or anything, but this neighborhood’s a little nicer than they’re used to. With three of them with jobs, they’re not living as hand-to-mouth as they all did growing up. With Mickey’s new job, they could probably afford an even nicer place, but none of them really want to move. It’s still close to the kid’s school, and moving’s a huge fucking hassle. Plus, they never know when one of them is going to lose their job or something, so it’s safer to stay where it’s cheaper.

“Nah,” Mickey says. Then he amends, “Or—I don’t know, actually. Didn’t say, but I doubt it. Iggy was fucking some married chick and had his face all busted up because the husband came home. Colin was s’posed to be on lookout but he was definitely high.”

Ian frowns. “Shouldn’t fuck married people.”

“That’s what I told him,” Mickey says. “He was all surprised I was married.”

Ian laughs a little. He looks at Mickey, amused. “You talked to him for a second and you brought up that you got married?”

“Well…” Mickey can feel himself going red a little from the teasing. Of anyone teasing him, he certainly takes it best from Ian, but still. “I mean, I just said—” Mickey cuts himself off. He’s not bringing up what he said. He’s not reminding Ian of the stuff in the past. Not that Ian needs a reminder, necessarily, but right now Ian’s smiling and eating his dinner and not worrying about that. Mickey just shrugs and mumbles, “Whatever, I like saying _my husband_.” That’s not even a lie. Mickey does like that, stupid as that is.

Ian’s smile practically takes up his whole goddamn face. “Fucking sap,” he accuses happily.

“Whatever,” Mickey grouses. “I, uh, gave ‘em both my number. I don’t really know why.”

Ian shrugs. “Well, they’re your brothers.”

“Yeah,” Mickey says. “But like…” He shrugs back. “When’s that ever mattered?”

Ian tips his head, conceding that. “But things are different now.”

“Not for them,” Mickey points out. “They’re still selling and running around banging married chicks and getting Iggy’s face pounded in. I just—maybe it was a bad idea.” Mickey runs his hands over his thighs. Ian turns away from his food to grab Mickey’s hands.

“Hey,” he says softly. “There’s nothing wrong with deciding you want to give them another chance.”

Mickey swallows hard. “Maybe.”

Ian searches his face. Mickey must not look too distressed, because Ian nods. “Not like you have to start seeing them every day,” he points out. “Maybe you can meet up, maybe you don’t. At least you can reach out if you want to.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Mickey agrees. Ian squeezes his hands. Then he lets go and goes back to eating, which is a weight off Mickey’s shoulders. Sometimes it takes Ian hours to get a whole meal down on a bad day. Today seems pretty okay.

“So,” Ian says, something in his tone alerting Mickey to a conversation change. “Wanna give me the big surprise or what?”

“What?” Mickey demands. “Mandy squealed?”

Ian laughs. “We have a joint bank account, Mick. I got cash today and saw the balance.”

“So who says it’s a surprise?” Mickey asks. “Maybe I blew it on a poker game.”

That makes Ian laugh harder. “First of all, you wouldn’t go play poker without me. And second, you don’t lose at poker.”

“Fucking right I don’t,” Mickey says cockily. He loves that Ian knows that. Part of it comes from Mickey beating Ian up once when they were in middle school because Ian wasn’t delivering on a poker loss—he owed Mickey twenty bucks and a Ho-Ho, and Mickey wasn’t letting him get away with that—but Mickey likes hearing the pride in Ian’s voice now.

“I can tell you’ve been excited about something for a while now,” Ian says. “I can put two and two together.”

Mickey laughs a little. “Shit, guess I can’t keep anything from you, Sherlock Holmes.”

Ian laughs again and kicks at Mickey’s chair. “Yeah, don’t you forget it.”

Mickey licks his lips. “Well, I planned this—I mean, I was gonna tell you today or tomorrow anyway, ‘cause you gotta know in advance. Get off work. But I…” Mickey feels kind of stupid. He’s rehearsed how he was going to tell Ian like fifty times, but suddenly he can’t remember any of it. He shrugs and pulls up the confirmation email for the flights and hands his phone to Ian.

Ian scans the email, eyes getting bigger and bigger as he does. He looks up fast. “Mickey, this is—what is this?” His voice is all high with excitement and Mickey’s heart starts beating faster.

“Thought we could take a trip,” he says with another shrug. He can’t quite meet Ian’s eyes. He’s getting better at eye contact, at least with Ian, but he still feels kind of self-conscious about this. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, because he _knows_ Ian is going to hit the roof with excitement. But somehow that’s hard, too. Ian’s going to be all grateful and that makes Mickey feel weird.

“To California?” Ian asks. He laughs giddily. “Oh, my God.” He surges forward and kisses Mickey. “Mickey,” he breathes.

Mickey pulls him back in for another kiss. “Well, you know, I can leave the state now,” he says. “So.” He shrugs. “Knew you’d like it.”

“I love it,” Ian assures him fervently. “God, I love _you_. This is—you’re so amazing, Mickey.” He’s getting emotional now. Mickey holds onto his face.

“Hey, come on,” he says. “Don’t cry about it, sniffles.”

Ian huffs. “Fuck you,” he says. “God, I just…I never imagined we’d be here, Mick. We’re fucking _married_. We’re going on a trip. Somewhere I’ve _always_ wanted to go. And you—you knew it’d be important for me.”

Mickey makes himself meet Ian’s eyes to say, “I want to always make you happy.”

“You _do_ ,” Ian says. “Right here at home. But I just…” He laughs, kind of helplessly. He kisses Mickey again and again. “Thank you,” he murmurs against Mickey’s lips. “Thank you so much, Mick.” He pulls back to whoop excitedly. “We’re going to the beach!”

“We are?” Yevgeny calls back. Ian winces guiltily.

“You fucking did not just yell that with him home,” Mickey hisses. “What is this, amateur hour?”

“Shit, I ruined it,” Ian says, but he’s giggling now and Mickey can’t hold back his own laughter.

Yevgeny comes skidding out of his bedroom and Mickey feels a little bad now. He looks so excited. “The beach?”

“No, little man, not—” Mickey makes a face. “Me and Ian are going on a trip. You’re not coming. This time. But we can go to the beach here. We can go to the river.”

Yevgeny blinks. “You’re going _without me_?” He sounds betrayed. Mickey’s not laughing now, and neither is Ian. Mickey doesn’t know what to say. He feels really fucking guilty now.

“Yev, this trip is in September,” Ian explains quickly. “You’ll be back in school by then. And it’s on a school day. So you…so you and Mama are going to stay here and have fun without us.”

Yevgeny considers this, but he looks awfully suspicious. “What am I gonna do here with Mama?”

“Whatever you want,” Mickey says. “I bet you guys will go to your Russian club and…go to your friends’ houses.”

Yevgeny’s softening. It doesn’t take much to get in his good graces. “Can I go to Landon’s house?”

Mickey has no fucking clue who Landon is. “Sure, if it’s okay with your mom and his mom.”

“Landon doesn’t have a mom,” Yevgeny reports. “Only a dad.”

“Okay,” Mickey says, not sure how that actually factors into this conversation but used to Yevgeny correcting him on shit like that. “So if it’s okay with his dad, then.”

“Okay,” Yevgeny says. He comes over and climbs into Ian’s lap. “Where are you going?”

“We’re going to a state called California,” Ian says. “All the way across the country.”

“Can I see?” Yevgeny requests. Ian pulls up a map on Mickey’s phone that he’s still holding. The kid points right to Illinois.

“There’s us!”

“Yep, good job,” Ian praises. “And all the way over here is California.”

“Wow, on the ocean!” Yevgeny says. “Did you know there’s salt in the water in the ocean?”

“Yeah, there is,” Ian says. “We’ll bring some back for you, how ‘bout that? And seashells.”

“ _Really_?” Yevgeny squeaks.

Mickey snorts. The kid’s so easy to please. “Sure,” Mickey agrees. “You want seashells, you got seashells.”

Yevgeny leans back against Ian’s chest. “Lip didn’t bring me any seashells. He didn’t bring me back _anything_.”

Ian laughs. “Well, Lip was there for work. Maybe he didn’t have time to find seashells.” It’s a lie, but Yevgeny won’t know that.

“I met two more uncles,” Yevgeny tells Ian. “Dad’s brothers. But not mean brothers.”

“Yeah, Iggy and Colin aren’t too mean,” Ian says. That’s not really true, objectively speaking, but relative to other brothers in Mickey’s family, sure, Iggy and Colin aren’t too mean.

“You know them?” Yevgeny asks.

Mickey huffs. “We all lived together when you were a little baby.”

“We _did_?” Yevgeny asks. “I don’t remember, ‘cause I was too little for memories. Babies don’t remember stuff.”

“Yeah, when you get old like us you might not even remember stuff from now,” Ian points out.

“I can’t even remember what happened yesterday,” Mickey teases.

“You can’t?” Yevgeny asks incredulously. “Wow, getting old sounds like you get dumb.”

Ian cracks up laughing. He shoots Mickey an apologetic look. “Dad’s not dumb, Yev,” he corrects. “And he was mostly just joking. But you do forget stuff more when you get older. Or when you’ve been hit in the head a bunch and traumatized over and over.” He adds the last part under his breath. Yevgeny pushes his glasses up.

“I’ve never been hit in the head.”

“Good,” Mickey cuts in. “Let’s try to keep it that way, alright?”

“Alright,” Yevgeny agrees with a shrug. “Why would I want to get hit in the head?”

“An excellent point,” Ian deadpans. He gives Yevgeny a little tickle that makes him squeal. “Did you brush your teeth?”

Yevgeny looks at Mickey. Mickey shrugs at him. “What you looking at me for?”

“Well, you said I don’t _have_ to brush my teeth.”

“Yeah, I don’t care if you brush your teeth.” Mickey backpedals when Ian shoots him a dirty look. “I mean—okay, I don’t care. But if you want to be the kid with nasty-ass breath and brown, rotten teeth, be my guest. I can tell you right now, though, you don’t make a lot of friends that way.”

Yevgeny makes a face. “Okay, fine.” He rolls his eyes and slithers off Ian’s lap to go brush his teeth. He sighs heavily as he leaves the room, like brushing his teeth is a fucking huge imposition. Mickey huffs at him.

“Jesus, not like I told him to go down to the coal mine.”

Ian laughs a little. “Hey, he’s had a roller coaster of emotion today. Looking for Sasha, meeting Iggy and Colin, finding out we’re taking a trip without him…”

“Feel kinda guilty,” Mickey admits.

“Yeah, me too,” Ian says. He lowers his voice. “But I mostly feel guilty for not feeling all that bad about it.”

Mickey laughs out loud. “Hey, you said it.”

Ian’s smiling wide again. He pulls at Mickey’s arm insistently. “What?” Mickey asks.

“Come here,” Ian requests.

“Come here where?” Mickey asks. They’re sitting right next to each other.

“Come _here_ ,” Ian repeats, pulling Mickey over, into his lap.

“No,” Mickey says scornfully. He doesn’t sit on anyone’s fucking lap. He’s not a little kid. Hell, he doesn’t think he sat on anyone’s lap even when he was. Ian wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist and holds him in place. Mickey could get away if he really wanted to, but he waits it out to see what Ian’s doing.

“I just want to hold onto you for a second,” Ian says, voice muffled in Mickey’s shoulder.

“You can’t hold onto me from our two different chairs?”

“Nope,” Ian says cheerfully. “This is right where I want you.”

Mickey has to swallow hard. He takes a deep breath. “’Kay,” he says evenly. “Can you—I’ll stay here, I guess, but you gotta ease up, man. I can’t—” Ian’s holding onto him too tightly. Mickey thought he was over most of that fear of being penned down, but this is not working for him. Not even with Ian. Mickey’s never sat on anyone’s lap without it being some kind of fight, like he just ended up there while he was going in for a headbutt or something.

“Shit, sorry,” Ian says, immediately loosening his hold. He rubs Mickey’s back. “Didn’t think about it.”

“It’s okay,” Mickey says. He looks down at Ian. “I’m okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, sure,” Mickey says. He refuses to say _promise_. “Feel like a fucking idiot, though. I look like the kind of guy who sits on laps?”

“You sit on my lap plenty,” Ian points out, smirking.

Mickey snorts. He didn’t think of it that way, but Ian’s got a point. Ian’s really into Mickey riding him. It’s not like Mickey has complaints about it, either. “You gonna whip your dick out right now?”

Ian laughs. He’s tracing little patterns into Mickey’s ribs and shoulder blades with his fingers. “No,” he admits. “I just like having you on top of me. Is that a crime, husband?”

Now Mickey laughs. “You think because I’m an ex-con, I know all the crimes, huh?”

“Yeah, you know enough about the legal system to go be a lawyer.”

Mickey elbows him lightly. “Yes, your honor, you did sentence me to eight years in prison for attempted murder, fuck you very much, but don’t sentence this guy for that long, okay?”

Ian’s laughing at him, but there’s a soft look in his eyes. He pushes a hand through Mickey’s hair. “If anyone could do it, you could.”

Mickey looks at him for a second. “You’re real excited about that trip, huh? Being all soft and cheesy.”

Ian kisses him. “I’m so excited,” he says. “I can’t wait.” He smiles at Mickey, face so full of love Mickey’s breath catches in his chest. “You do so much to make me happy, Mick. You make sure I know you love me.”

Well, that makes Mickey’s breath catch some more. There’s something different about Ian saying he knows Mickey loves him than just Ian saying he loves Mickey. It’s almost better. Maybe it’s because of all the shit Ian deals with from his body issues, or how Mickey being fucked up over stuff Ian did in the past kept fucking them up now for a while, or Mickey being such an asshole to Ian about everything between them when they were younger, or just that so many people have misunderstood Mickey’s feelings for so long. Whatever it is, Mickey’s just so fucking glad Ian knows without a doubt Mickey loves him.

Mickey bends his head for another kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs against Ian’s lips. “And I know you love me. You’re always taking care of me, making sure I’m not a total fucking train wreck. Gotta make sure I’m keeping up.”

Ian laughs softly and brushes Mickey’s hair off his forehead. “You’re keeping up just fine,” he says, smiling.

“Well, I’m gonna keep working on it,” Mickey promises.

“Yeah?” Ian asks. “Parole’s over and you’re still working?”

Of course Ian cut right to the heart of it. He remembers Mickey freaking out a few weeks ago and figured out instantly what Mickey meant. Sometimes it’s still hard for Mickey to believe Ian can do that, that Ian can know him so well he can see through Mickey’s bullshit and know exactly what Mickey’s thinking and feeling. It’s not something Mickey would’ve ever expected as a teenager. It’s not something Mickey would’ve _wanted_ as a teenager. He was protecting his shell as hard as possible. But that bullshit shell’s never been a match for Ian. He didn’t just see through it—he chiseled his way in and left an opening for other people to come in, too, if they wanted.

Mickey’s feeling incredibly overwhelmed right now. He presses his face into Ian’s neck and breathes for a second. Ian squeezes him, but he doesn’t keep the tight hold constant. Mickey had to tell him once and he won’t forget again.

“I’m gonna keep working,” Mickey says, choked. “You deserve it.”

“Mick,” Ian starts.

“No, shut up,” Mickey cuts him off. Ian huffs, but he doesn’t interrupt again. “I know I can’t do it all for you. But you _do_ deserve it, okay? And I…” Mickey takes a deep breath. “I deserve it, too. I deserve to—” He shrugs. “I deserve to be better like I want to be.”

“Fuck,” Ian says under his breath. He puts his hands on Mickey’s face and peppers him with kisses. “Holy shit, I love you. I’m so happy you’re—God, Mick, think how far you’ve come.”

“Still got a long way to go,” Mickey points out.

“But you’re gonna keep working on it,” Ian murmurs, eyes soft and happy.

“Yeah,” Mickey says. He leans forward and kisses Ian again. “I’m gonna keep working on it.”

“And I am, too,” Ian says softly. “Right here with you.”

Mickey gets his hand up the back of Ian’s shirt so he can feel his skin. He kisses him again. “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan,” he says.

Ian looks at him and smiles. Mickey thinks about where they’ll be in five years, ten, twenty. He’s excited. He smiles right back.

 

“Wow,” Ian says, awestruck. The ocean’s so fucking loud Mickey can barely hear him, and they’re standing with their shoulders pressed together. “It’s so…” He trails off, shaking his head.

“Loud,” Mickey says. He’s trying not to be annoyed, but he’s never exactly been all _beauty and wonder_ in nature. It’s fucking hot and he already has sand in his shoes after two seconds and there are birds everywhere and he just _knows_ he’s getting shit on at some point in this trip.

The plane ride was…difficult. Mickey hadn’t really thought through the whole “stuck inside a metal can in the sky for five hours” part of the equation. It was a bumpy flight and it took a lot not to puke up the little bag of peanuts he got. He spent the whole flight with his face hidden in Ian’s shoulder, trying to breathe while Ian ran his fingers through Mickey’s hair. He’d kept a white-knuckle death grip on the arm rest and wedged his other hand between Ian’s legs. Not like he was feeling up Ian’s dick or anything. It’s just generally a safe place for Mickey’s hand. He would’ve _liked_ to feel up Ian’s dick, and it would’ve made him feel a hell of a lot better, but he’s never been into public fucking and those bathrooms were so small and claustrophobic Mickey would’ve fucking died if he tried to wedge himself in there at all, let alone both of them at once.

But they made it, and Mickey’s trying his best not to ruin this for Ian. He did this whole fucking trip _for Ian_ , so it would be pretty shitty of him to be an asshole and make Ian miserable the whole time. Besides, Ian’s been so excited, and he’s looking at the ocean like he’s feeling something big. Mickey mostly just feels grimy and hungry, but Ian wanted to dump their shit in the hotel and come straight to the beach. Mickey’s letting him call the shots here, so he agreed.

And it is kind of pretty, he supposes. The water’s all blue and shimmery. At any rate, Ian looks good looking out at it, so at least there’s that. “You gonna go swim?” He asks Ian.

Ian looks over and raises an eyebrow. “You gonna come with me?”

Mickey huffs. “I don’t know how to swim,” he says. He thought Ian knew that. When the hell would Mickey have ever learned to swim?

“What?” Ian asks. “You don’t?”

“Of course I fucking don’t,” Mickey says, brow furrowed. He doesn’t know a lot of people who do. The Gallaghers have that pool, but it’s not big enough to actually swim in there. “You learned in ROTC, right?”

“No,” Ian says. “Fiona took us all to the pool and made sure we could swim. I think she got swimming lessons one summer when we were living with my uncle.”

“Oh.” Mickey shrugs. It’s just one more difference an older sibling who gives a shit can make, he guesses. On the other hand, Frank’s no Terry. He’s an asshole and he’s knocked the kids around some—mostly Ian, apparently, and that’s a big factor in Mickey wanting to kill him every time he sees him, even with how disgusting and pathetic he is these days—but he’s Father of the Year compared to Terry. Maybe if Joey hadn’t had Terry beating the shit out of him every day by the time he could walk, he would’ve been more like Fiona.

“We don’t have to actually swim,” Ian points out. “Let’s just go out a little bit.”

“I don’t…” Mickey can’t swim, but Terry did shove him in a lake once when he was nine. He sucked up a mouthful of nasty, scummy water before he found a branch hanging over into the water that he could grab onto and get back to shore. He’s never been a big fan of water since then.

“I’ll hold onto you,” Ian says. He’s not even being cutesy. He can tell Mickey’s not playing around, and from the look in his eyes, he’s guessed this is a Terry thing.

Mickey darts a look around. There are a bunch of other people here; little kids building sandcastles and then crying when some other shithead kid comes and knocks them over, couples lying on top of each other in the sun, wrinkly old ladies picking up seashells, people running by, people with dogs, people, people, people. Mickey takes a deep breath and does his breathing and counting routine.

There are a lot of people here. But here’s the thing: they don’t care what Mickey’s doing. They’re busy doing their own thing. They aren’t watching him or judging him. No one’s going to give a shit if two guys stand in the water. Ian and Mickey aren’t even the only gay dudes out here. There are two guys holding hands as they walk their dog, and one of the groups of kids building sandcastles has two dudes passing out sunscreen and sandwiches with them. Two of those old ladies picking up seashells are lesbians if Mickey’s ever seen any.

“’Kay,” he says.

“Really?” Ian asks.

“Yeah,” Mickey says. He takes another deep breath. “I just don’t want—not in my face, okay? The water?”

“Not even above your waist,” Ian promises. He’s starting to smile. He holds out his hand, but kind of subtle. He’s letting Mickey decide on their level of affection here. Mickey doesn’t have to hold Ian’s hand if he doesn’t want to.

Fuck that. Mickey hasn’t _not_ wanted to hold Ian’s hand in almost a decade, and he stopped ever denying himself that pleasure over a year ago. Now they’re married; he’s certainly not starting that up again. He laces his fingers through Ian’s and ducks his head a little when he sees how Ian’s face lights up.

They both yelp when the water hits their toes. It’s fucking freezing, even with how warm it is outside. Ian starts giggling like a middle school girl, and it’s infectious. Pretty soon they’re cracking up, crow-hopping with each new wave of frigid water on their feet, holding onto each other to stay upright.

“So fucking cold,” Mickey gasps and Ian pulls him further out. The water’s above his knees now. Ian, of course, is still mostly dry, because he’s a goddamn giant and his body is like 80% legs. But he’s keeping a close eye on where the water level is on Mickey. He made Mickey a promise, and he’s not going to break it.

It all kind of hits Mickey just then. This isn’t the first time Ian’s done something like this, something dumb and small that matters to Mickey and wouldn’t really make a lot of sense to anyone else. Ian adjusts his plans based on how Mickey’s feeling all the time. Ian doesn’t go out and meet new people as much as he’d like to because Mickey hates that kind of shit. Ian watches every little thing Mickey does and makes sure he’s doing okay at all times.

“Mick?” Ian asks softly, as softly as he can over the water. “Hey, what is it?”

Mickey’s got tears in his eyes. He sniffles and blinks hard. No fucking way he’s crying in public. That is just absolutely not going to happen. He breathes out shakily. “I just—you, uh. You’re always looking out for me, Ian.”

Ian’s concern melts away and he gives Mickey this soft little smile. He puts a hand on Mickey’s cheek and brushes his thumb against Mickey’s cheek. “Yeah,” he says simply. “’Cause I love you, Mick. I gotta make sure you’re okay.” He ducks in for a quick kiss. Mickey’s not shying away or anything, but that doesn’t mean he can take a ton of PDA. “Just like you do for me.”

“Yeah,” Mickey says. He nods and sniffles again. “Fuck, I don’t know why I’m so—” He shakes his head. “Crying like a little bitch.”

Ian shrugs and bumps his shoulder gently into Mickey’s. “It’s our honeymoon,” he says, raising his eyebrows and grinning. “You can cry as much as you want.” He leans in closer. “Later I’m gonna make you cry in a whole different way.”

Mickey snorts. He doesn’t really like dirty talk too much. So much of it’s all weird and doesn’t make sense and has nothing to do with him and Ian. Ian used to do the more generic kind of dirty talk way more when they were teenagers, and Mickey would lose his fucking mind wondering who taught Ian which phrases. Now, he mostly sticks to Mickey’s name and describing exactly what he wants to do to Mickey. That works perfectly fine for Mickey.

“Not like it’s fucking hard to make me cry these days,” he points out.

Ian grins at him. “Yeah, you sure cry a lot,” he teases. “I love it.”

“You loved it when I never cried, too,” Mickey points out. It’s kind of weak, but Ian’s smile gets bigger.

“I sure did,” he agrees. “I love you every which way to Sunday.”

That makes Mickey laugh out loud. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“Neither does love,” Ian points out sanctimoniously.

Mickey laughs some more. “Guess that’s true.” Their love doesn’t make much sense, really. Most of the time, Mickey’s worried Ian just sticks with him because Mickey got him young. It’s easier to keep someone coming back when they’ve been attached to you since they were fifteen.

But Ian’s not some helpless idiot. Other dudes tried to get their claws in Ian when he was young, too, and he got away from them. Ian’s stable and pretty damn emotionally healthy. If it was just a matter of Mickey getting him young, Ian would know how to get away from him now. And he would, too.

That’s not what this is, though. They just really fucking love each other. For real. In a good way, too. Kim and Ian’s shrink have both called their relationship _healthy_. Just like Ian said—they take care of each other. They look out for each other. They protect each other. They’ve done that for longer than they’ve been healthy, that’s for sure.

Mickey’s heart is all full. The sun is shining and yeah, the water actually really _is_ pretty, and Ian’s standing here, smiling and holding his hand and making sure he’s safe and not freaking out. Mickey can’t fight a smile. “How ‘bout Monday?” He asks, because he’s feeling sappy and loose. “Gonna love me some more after Sunday’s over?”

Ian blinks, then he huffs. He pulls Mickey in close, hands on Mickey’s hips, and he stops with his lips inches from Mickey’s. “I’m gonna love you every fucking day until I drop dead, and then I’m gonna keep loving you some more just for good measure.”

It makes Mickey laugh. “That’s real fucking dumb,” he points out.

“Yeah,” Ian says. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“What am I gonna do about it?”

“Yeah,” Ian says, all challenging. He bumps his chest into Mickey’s. “What’re you gonna do?”

“Alright, tough guy,” Mickey says. He reaches up and kisses Ian. It’s a lot longer than the little peck Ian did before. He pulls back and he says, “I’m gonna love you even fucking harder than you love me.”

Ian shakes his head, losing his fight against a wide grin. “Not possible.”

“Wanna bet?” Mickey says.

“Yeah,” Ian says. “Let’s bet on it.”

“Name your stakes, high roller.”

“Alright,” Ian says, laughing a little. He tried so hard to keep his tough-guy swagger, but his sweetness always wins out in the end. “If I love you harder, you have to eat my ass every day after we die until we…evaporate, or whatever dead spirits do.”

It startles a laugh out of Mickey. “I don’t see the downside of losing,” he says.

Ian kisses him again. “Yeah, dumbass, there isn’t one. It’s a win-win.” He smiles, all proud of himself. “Just like love should be.”

“Oh my God,” Mickey groans, but he can’t help but laugh again. “So fucking sappy.”

“Says the guy who started crying at the beach,” Ian shoots back placidly. His smile is so big, so beautiful, so full of love, it steals Mickey’s breath. He gets this every day. _Forever_. He gets _Ian_. Until they die, or after, if Ian’s right and their ghosts or whatever hang around. He laughs a little.

“Okay, deal,” Mickey says. “Bet’s on.” He kisses Ian again. “Seal it with a kiss.”

Ian laughs at him, but it’s okay when Ian laughs at him. “Okay,” he echoes. “Guess we better get to work on that loving.”

“Tough job,” Mickey says, smiling so big he almost can’t talk.

“Best job in the world,” Ian declares.

They laugh some more at how stupid and cheesy they’re being, and they get in a splash fight where they’re kicking water and sand at each other’s feet, and then Mickey chases Ian out of the water and they tussle a little in the sand until they’re covered in the stuff and gasping for breath.

Loving each other is not particularly hard today. But other days it can be—when Ian feels worthless and thinks he needs to look better, when Ian’s low and not talking or when he’s manic and hanging on for dear life until the meds even him out again and he considers for the millionth time that he should leave the family for everyone else’s sake; when Mickey wakes up with a nightmare, Terry and fists and blood behind his eyelids so he gasps and jerks away from Ian and then can’t touch anyone for a whole day and thinks Ian deserves someone who can look him in the eye, give him the pet names he wants, go to parties with him. Even just regular days when they’re tired and cranky from work and the kid’s screaming and they’re arguing over who forgot to buy toothpaste and who threw their dirty socks all over with _no regard for hygiene_. (It’s Mickey; that’s always Mickey.)

Even on those bad days, it’s worth it. It’s worth Ian breathing down his neck about his laundry and the three hours it takes for Ian to choke down a sandwich through his tears. It’s worth Mickey fighting himself, his instincts, to kiss Ian out here in the open and tell him he loves him and be stupid and cheesy because it makes Ian happy.

It really is hard fucking work. But one thing Mickey’s learned over the past two years is hard work for a good reason is the best thing in the whole world. It can feel like shit a lot of times, but mostly it feels good. It feels great, because he gets days like this, days where they’re laughing and shoving each other and carefree.

“I love you,” Mickey murmurs. They’re sitting in the sand now, arms around each other’s shoulders, watching the seagulls dip in and out of the waves.

“I love you, too,” Ian says happily. Hearing it settles Mickey’s chest. Mickey’s never sure if he’s a good person, if he deserves all this goodness, if he should even get to do the hard work in the first place. But the fact is, he _does_ get this. He gets his family, and he gets Ian, and he gets a good job with people who don’t think he’s trash because of the shit he’s been through. Whether he deserves it or not, he’s got good people who give a fuck what happens to him, he’s got a good life he can hardly believe is his. He thought, that summer after he came out, that was the happiest he could ever be. He thought it was the best he could get. When it all went to shit, he wasn’t surprised; he figured that was the way life worked. But Mickey’s not some passive participant anymore. He’s got it even better now, and it just keeps getting better. He puts in _work_ , and he sees the payoff, just like Kim said. So he’s not going to let this life, this love, this family, go to waste. Maybe he doesn’t deserve it; he’ll probably never be completely convinced he does.

But he has it. And he sure as fuck isn’t letting it slip away ever again.

 

When they get home, they’re sunburned and groggy from moving through time zones. Yevgeny loses his shit when they get home. It’s the longest they’ve all been apart in more than a year and a half and the longest he’s gone without seeing Mickey in two full years. They talked to him every night and Mickey still read a book with him over the phone, but it’s not the same.

Yevgeny’s in his lap on the couch, examining the sand and shells Ian meticulously collected from the beach and chattering away about all the shit he read in some book about the ocean, when Mickey’s phone buzzes. His heart leaps when he sees it’s Hawkins. What if something happened with Mickey’s parole? What if there was a big mistake and now that he left the state they’re going to throw his ass back in prison?

He tells himself to calm the fuck down. Hawkins wouldn’t let that happen. Mickey takes a deep breath before he answers. “Hey, Hawkins.” He can’t help how wary he sounds. Svetlana, on the couch across the living room, narrows her eyes a little, zeroing right in on Mickey.

Hawkins laughs a little. “You’re still in the clear,” he assures Mickey. Mickey breathes a little sigh of relief. “I got a question for you.”

“What’s up?” Mickey asks, shifting the kid over a little so he’s more on Ian’s lap than Mickey’s.

“So…there’s this group of guys who’re coming out on parole soon,” Hawkins says slowly. “About five of them. Guy who’s been in the longest was in for four years.”

Mickey doesn’t know what this has to do with him. Unless maybe he knows the dude. He could. “Pretty long time.”

“Yeah.” Hawkins hesitates and Mickey’s nerves get worse. “Wanted to get someone in to talk to them. Someone who’s been there. Someone who can answer their questions, show them a success story.”

Mickey can’t speak for a second. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Hawkins says with a laugh. “You know you’re my most improved parolee in history.”

“I can’t—I mean, what would I even say? The only reason I got through all this shit is ‘cause I got my family. Not like that’s a hot tip I can hand out.”

Svetlana starts smiling at him. Ian’s still listening to Yevgeny, but he’s looking over at Mickey now, a smile playing on his lips, too. Mickey can’t look at either one of them.

“A good support system’s one of the most important pieces,” Hawkins agrees. “You definitely had that going for you.”

“Just luck,” Mickey mumbles.

Hawkins scoffs. “Yeah, okay,” he says sarcastically. “But remember my number one requirement?”

“Good attitude,” Mickey says automatically. Hawkins only says it every fucking time Mickey sees him. He’s got like fifty quotes about attitude on the walls in his office.

“Yeah,” Hawkins says. “That’s what I want you to talk about.”

Mickey laughs out loud. “You want _me_ to talk about good attitude?”

Ian huffs a little laugh, but he reaches across the back of the couch and strokes the hair at the base of Mickey’s skull. He can probably guess at least some of this conversation, but he’s keeping his opinions to himself for now. Mickey knows that’s going to go out the window the second he hangs up.

“Yeah, Mickey, I do,” Hawkins says confidently. “For all your prickly talk and swearing, you were the most willing to put in the work and change I’ve seen in a long time. That’s what I want you to talk about.”

“I don’t know,” Mickey says. His stomach is all unsettled about this. “I mean…at the prison?”

Ian’s not smiling anymore. He and Svetlana exchange a look, and Svetlana shakes her head minutely. They don’t want him to do that. No fucking conflict there—Mickey doesn’t want to do that. If he even sees a picture of that prison, he’ll probably piss himself.

“No, Mickey, give me some credit,” Hawkins says. “Would I do that to you? I can get special permission to transport them to my office for the times you come talk to them.”

“ _Times_?” Mickey echoes. “More than once?”

“Yeah,” Hawkins says. “I was hoping it could be a weekly thing. Just for a month or two. Do the first one or two before they get out, and then keep meeting with ‘em while they’re back in the world, doing their best. They’ll need a good mentor.”

Mickey rubs at his lip. “The fuck would I even say? My first few months weren’t great.”

“I know, but then they got better. That’s an important thing to hear when you’re struggling.”

Mickey’s not so sure about that. But the only person who ever tried telling him things would get better was Debbie, and he was drunk off his ass and had a concussion, so he wasn’t exactly open to advice. She wasn’t wrong, though. His life _has_ kept getting better.

Mickey sighs. “I mean, do I gotta decide right now?”

“No, of course not,” Hawkins says. “Think about it. Sleep on it. Talk it out with Ian. You don’t need to decide anything now. I’ve got two weeks before I have to tell my boss and the warden who I picked for the program.”

“You got backup guys, though, right?” Mickey asks anxiously. He cannot be the only one Hawkins is pinning his hopes on. He can’t take that.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Hawkins assures him. “I’ve got some other guys in mind, too. But you’re my number one choice, okay? Those other guys’ll do if I have to settle, but you’re the one I want.”

Mickey shakes his head a little. That’s too much to process right now. “Sounds kinda gay,” he manages to say. He hears Ian scoff at him.

“Let me know,” Hawkins says, ignoring Mickey’s weak joking entirely.

And then Mickey’s just staring down at his phone, feeling like he just got hit by a truck or something. “I can’t do that,” he says under his breath. “No fucking way.”

“What is it?” Ian asks.

“Hawkins wants to me talk to some guys who’re up for parole soon. And like…” He shrugs. “ _Mentor_ them.”

“Is good idea,” Svetlana says. “Good example.”

“I can’t…I’m not…” Mickey swallows hard. He shakes his head again. “Not me.”

“That’s a job for a good person,” Ian says. “Someone willing to volunteer and help other guys out.”

“Yeah,” Mickey says. “Sound like me?” He makes a face.

“Yeah,” Ian says easily. “It does.”

“No, it—” Mickey huffs. Ian fucking set him up on that one.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Yevgeny asks. He crawls back into Mickey’s lap. Mickey kind of wishes he wouldn’t, because he already can’t get a full breath here. But he’s not going to push the kid off.

“Hawkins asked me to do something and I think it’s a bad idea.”

“Is it something bad?” Yevgeny asks seriously.

“No, is something good,” Svetlana says. “Help people.”

Yevgeny’s eyebrows pull together. “Why is helping people a bad idea?”

“I’m the bad idea,” Mickey says, lips feeling numb. “I can’t—I’m not a good person. I can’t be a good example.”

Yevgeny’s face crinkles up. “What are you talking about, Dad? You _are_ a good person.”

Mickey covers his face with his hands. “No, I’m not,” he says. “You don’t know. You’re a kid, you don’t—I’ve done bad shit, kid. So much bad shit.”

Yevgeny considers this. “Did you say sorry for it?”

“Yes, he did,” Ian cuts in. “That’s what prison was. Saying sorry and making up for it.”

Mickey shrugs helplessly. That’s not actually true. He never told Sammi he was sorry. He never will, either. That’s not something that keeps him up at night. That bitch deserved everything Mickey gave her and a whole lot more.

“Well, then, it’s okay,” Yevgeny says, like everything in the world is the same as a kid fucking stealing another kid’s Oreos at lunch. “You said sorry and you made up for it. You’re not bad if you do that.”

“Some things are really bad,” Mickey says. “Remember when I shook you and hurt your arm?”

“Yeah,” Yevgeny says, a _duh_ lurking behind his words. “And you _said sorry_. And you never did it again!” He looks confused. “Isn’t saying sorry good?”

“Well, it’s—I mean—” Mickey can feel himself starting to breathe too fast.

“Yev, sometimes things are more complicated for grownups than kids,” Ian steps in, because he can never stand by and watch while Mickey flounders. “There _are_ some things that don’t go away just ‘cause you said sorry. If Dad’s dad said sorry for hitting him all the time, it wouldn’t make up for him doing it, and it wouldn’t make just him a good person right away. Dad’s afraid he’s done some stuff like that. But I don’t think he has. I think he _is_ a good person, and he did some bad things, but he’s not going to do stuff like that anymore.”

“Yeah,” Yevgeny agrees. “Dad would never hurt me now.”

“That’s…” Mickey’s not going to tell him he’s _wrong_. Mickey’s doing his best to make sure that’s right. But it’s hard for him to say he’d _never_ do it. He doesn’t plan to. But he didn’t plan it the first time, either. He shakes his head a little. “I’ll try,” he promises.

“That’s the attitude part,” Ian points out, eyebrows raised. Mickey gives him a look. Ian holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine, okay. I’m just saying, you know how _I_ feel about this.”

Ian thinks Mickey’s a good person. Or, at least, Ian thinks Mickey _can_ be a good person. If he keeps working at it. Which he promised he would. And maybe this is part of working at it—helping other people working at it, too. He said he was never the kind of person who’d do volunteer shit, but this might count.

Mickey looks at Ian. Ian gives him a little nod. He’s always thought Mickey could do this kind of shit. Mickey looks at Svetlana. She looks back steadily. She has not always thought he was a good person, that’s for sure. But she seems to think so now. Mickey looks down at Yevgeny. The kid’s looking up at him, smiling at him, missing both his top front teeth. Yevgeny thinks Mickey is the strongest, smartest guy in the world. He thinks Mickey can fix anything, find anything, _do_ anything. Yevgeny doesn’t know Mickey’s a piece of shit. Yevgeny doesn’t know everything Mickey’s done.

He knows Mickey now, though. Ian, Svetlana, Fiona, Hawkins, Kim—they all understand the bad shit Mickey’s done. They know why he can’t fathom anyone thinking he’s good. Yevgeny doesn’t, though. Yevgeny just has pure, blind faith in him.

Mickey said he wasn’t throwing away this family. He said he was holding onto this shot this time. He said he was going to keep working. Maybe he should work on living up to the way the kid sees him. Maybe he should try harder to make that faith a little less blind.

“Alright,” Mickey says quietly.

“Yeah?” Ian checks.

Mickey shrugs. “Kid thinks I should do it, huh?”

“Yeah,” Yevgeny says easily. “You should always help people, Dad. It’s nice.”

_Nice_. No one on this fucking Earth has ever described Mickey as _nice_. Probably not even Ian, because as much as he loves Mickey, he still knows Mickey. He’s suffered through Mickey’s personality plenty.

“Nice,” Mickey says out loud. He makes a face. He went a long ass time avoiding being nice. He wanted everyone to be afraid of him. He wanted everyone to hate him. He already hated himself, so it didn’t matter. But he doesn’t now. Not as much, at least. And if the kid thinks he can be nice—well, maybe he can. Mickey laughs a little. “Alright, little man,” Mickey says. “I’ll be nice.”

Yevgeny, of course, doesn’t know this is a big deal. He doesn’t get it. He just nods and goes back to looking at his seashells. Ian gives Mickey’s shoulder a squeeze, and when Mickey looks at him, he sees so much love and pride in Ian’s eyes. Ian’s proud of him. Mickey looks over and sees it in Svetlana’s eyes, too. They’re proud of him. They believe in him.

Mickey gives Yevgeny a little tickle, just because this is all getting heavy and he’s not sure he can handle it right now. Yevgeny squirms and laughs, but he’s undeterred in asking ten million questions about sand and shells and _ocean invertebrates._ Mickey doesn’t even know what the fuck _ocean invertebrates_ are. Maybe that’s another thing he’ll work on; reading more, learning, shit like that. No one ever thought he’d finish parole, but he did it so well he’s getting asked to help other dudes. No one ever thought he’d be a good dad, but his kid thinks he’s the fucking best. No one ever thought he’d figure out how to love someone, but he sure as fuck got that one down.

Mickey looks over at Ian again, smiling a little. Everyone’s been telling him for a while now how proud they are of him. Right now, with Yevgeny chattering away about the shit he’s learned, surrounded by his family and his new resolve to keep working, Mickey finally feels what they’re talking about. For the first time in his life, it’s okay that people are saying they’re proud of him. Mickey gets what they mean.

For the first time in his life, Mickey’s proud of _himself_. And he likes that feeling a lot. He’s going to keep doing what he needs to so that feeling sticks around.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://biblionerd07.tumblr.com)


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